


All at Sea

by 7seabear



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Hunger Games, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7seabear/pseuds/7seabear
Summary: For Coral Swan, Finnick Odair was a dangerous murderer. A man built on violence and privilege, whose luck had afforded him an ability to overlook the darker aspects of District 4. His appearance in her life is unwelcome, but it might just be the opportunity she's been missing to learn how to be more than her judgements. // Updated every 2 weeks
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Finnick Odair/Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter One

District Four Subdivision A smelled of saltwater and fish. It was a scent that Coral Swan recalled from back before she took her first steps. Her first swim. It mingled with blood from the first blade held in her hand. The Swan's weren't wealthy by any stretch, but Delmar Swan had taken his father's fishing trawlers and turned them into a thriving corporation. He employed seven per cent of District Four's expansive population, training them from eager pre-teens to loyal adults. Delmar had married for love, a whip-smart merchant named Gillian who had birthed him first a son, and then a daughter.

Coral's early childhood was filled with days on the sea, saltwater staining her lips and an endless cycle of her father's employees training her in how to wield a trident. A knife. A rope. A net. None of them ever alluded to what they were doing, but Coral knew. Her brother Ford had known it too. Their lives had been built from the ground up to give them all the best opportunities. Networks. Skills.

Enough that the day when Ford Swan's name was pulled from the reaping bowl in the Sixty-Third Hunger Games, he would have enough strength and support to bring him back home.

That year, Coral discovered that money and respect weren't infinite. Particularly when one's father was pouring every last surplus cent into keeping his family name alive. His boy. His pride and joy. Coral at all of twelve had stared blankly at the screen while Ford ranked mediocrely. As he'd emerged from his training with his face torn, and whispers grew of some feud between the boy and the other tributes. The Games began and the usual collaborations between districts One, Two and Four didn't appear. Her brother had had to flee into a barren desert landscape with little to help him survive. It had been her father who had paid for the water he received. For the bread. For the medicine to ease the blisters raised on his sunburnt skin.

Delmar, Gillian and Coral had watched as their people betrayed them. As District Four, the Capitol, and everything it stood for, simply settled back into its seats to watch Ford Swan starve to death in an arena full of monsters. His mentor Mags had done her best, but as Coral watched – the people chose to turn their heads away. Those that didn't avert their gazes cried Ford Swan too ugly to warrant help. Too weak. Too simple. _Even if we help him now_ , they claimed, _what good is he to us like that?_

Bitterness doesn't happen overnight. It's found in the quiet agreement of a district that their hopes were better pinned on the young girl who could make weapons out of stones and viper venom. Found in the mutt snake that slithered its way over sand to sink fangs into her brother's wrist and fill him with poison. Found in the image of the boy who cut Ford Swan groin to throat with an axe when his screams drew attention. Found in the aftermath of an unmarked coffin and a district that peeled out for the funeral of a boy they had abandoned to the wolves.

As her father crumbled, her mother rose. Gillian established a stall on the docks to sell the fish she was able to catch until Delmar managed to cobble together enough men to start sailing again. The damage had, however, already been done. Delmar trusted few of his men, the hard-fought-for loyalty he'd thought he'd instilled little more than ash and dust. Swan Fisheries dwindled down to two boats and a handful of supporters. Her home, too painful to bear with her brothers' empty room, was sold and replaced with a smaller affair. Her parents' marriage bed transitioned from a double to two twins.

Coral waited for each subsequent games with bated breath. With sorrow and anger and blinding fear that soon her own name would be called. The sixty-fourth passed with two unnamed tributes volunteering their names, and a faint balm to the wound. It wasn't just them. It was everyone suffering. In pain. Agonised. Coral almost convinced herself that maybe, _someday_ , the feelings would pass.

And then, the sixty-fifth had brought Finnick Odair. A boy her own age. From her own Subdivision. She'd passed him and his bright smiles in school. Recalled the way he'd reached for her once after Ford, his hand out and mouth open as though he could offer her anything at all.

For a brief moment, Coral had felt relief that her parents would not lose their second child. Quick on its heels was sympathy for Finnick and the fate that awaited him. It lasted all of the ten minutes that it took for Coral to see the broadcast and the commentators as they singled him out from the start. As he claimed high ranks and praise for his beauty, his charm.

By the time Finnick Odair made it to the games, his tribute finance pool was thirteen times what her brothers had been.

By the time he was granted the trident that helped him claim his victory, Coral had found a vehicle for her loss. An embodiment of all the wrongdoing that had befallen her family. The Capitol was too far away to strike against. Too much of an idea in a world that was grounded in sea and sand.

Finnick Odair was less of a wisp. He was human and whole and as far as Coral Swan was concerned, _he was nothing less than a monster_.


	2. Chapter Two

Once upon a time, there'd been a state known as California. It was composed of sunshine and oranges, white stained boulevards lined with palm trees. The land opened out into the sea, sun beating down onto pale sands. There had been multitudes of thriving metropolitan areas filled with people from every nationality, ethnicity and creed.

What had existed of California before global warfare, ecological crisis and the formation of the state of Panem remained only in the stories that passed from father to son, mother to daughter. They spoke of times before President Snow had ruled their nation with an iron fist, times before districts were composed of people penned in like masses of cattle. Times that could only be spoken about in faint whispers for fear of treason.

The seas had risen to swallow whole cities, making islands out of mountains and hills. Rivers had grown polluted and sore. Eventually, with time, some semblance of normality returned but only because the people who survived were resilient. _Hard_. That was what Coral Swan told herself as sunlight woke her at five a.m., signifying the start of another day. Her mother was already up, pottering about in their small kitchen next door long enough to leave the house scented with bread salted with seaweed. At seventeen she had outgrown the small twin bed that filled most of the space in her room, a body formed of long limbs and pointy elbows.

The mattress was too thin. The curtains threadbare.

It was this hour of the morning where she allowed herself a singular moment of weakness. A moment to remember when the room she'd lived in would've fit into her current one three times over. Where the pillows were soft enough to sink into. In _that_ house, the scent of bread would've been of the fresh bought bakery kind. At five a.m. it would've been her father up, a soft argument taking place in the room next door where her brother slept as he tried to coerce the boy out of bed.

Chest constricting painfully, she wondered when she might wake without rifling through these memories. When her weaknesses could be an accepted part of her rather than a secret. In that other world, crying was normal. _Feeling_ was normal. Or rather, feeling something other than roiling anger. Chin lifted upward and eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling, Coral wondered what other people saw in her face. When she found the desk at the back of the classroom and sat there unmoving; did they wonder what was passing through her mind?

Was her impotent rage in plain sight, or did the mask she constructed actually _work_?

A rap at her door was the signal for the end of her reflection for the day and she rose. Found a clean set of clothing and gathered her things. Most days were monotonous. Mornings before eight went to the sea to catch the early shoals and return them to shore. From eight was school for six hours, broken only by a brief lunch and the occasional sports session. Lessons ranged from the basic history of Panem and the rise of Coriolanus Snow to their president, to targeted work preparation. Quality control experts for the plants. Knots and metal work for the fishermen. Zoology and cooking for those who would process the food to be sent to the Capitol.

Subdivision A, the greatest body of residents from District Four, held primarily seamen, divers and pre-processing facilities. Subdivision B educated the processing and quality control agents. Subdivision C were over packing and distribution. They learned the full scope of District Four's production under the Capitol's generosity. After all, subdivisions weren't prisons. There could be free movement between them all. Within reason. And curfew. And poverty lines.

After work was her mother's fish market stall. Panem was run on strict rules. The Capitol dictated who could own the businesses, of how much of the product was moved to be sold elsewhere and how much remained to be sold to their own. For the bulk of her youth, the Swan's comfortable life had been structured on a fleet of extended permit fishing trawlers. After her brother's name getting called at the Reaping, Delmar Swan had traded off the bulk of his trawlers for sponsorship gifts. For all the good it had done.

Income now was via her father's remaining trawlers and the occasional long distance permits they managed to secure during lotteries. Which meant supplementing it somewhere else was vital to maintain their status quo. Gillian Swan's hands had once been soft and supple like water. They were hands that served only to darn socks and bake cookies for her children. Now, the occasional time Coral felt her mother's palm on her cheek it was calloused and stinking of fish. They'd made it work though. Her father's business kept their home. Her mother's supplied everything else.

All in all, it wasn't a _bad_ life. It wasn't an especially good one either.

Of course, as with all things, some days were better than others.

Finnick Odair's presence in the market was a parting of seas. The first flicker of panic rose as Coral looked to the front of the stall to where her mother normally stood preparing food. Coral preferred the back, a blade in her hand and viable entrails siphoned off for stews. It wasn't pleasant to look at but it suited her more than feigning polite interest in the lives of their customers. Back teeth gritting together, she reached the window in the same step as the boy on the other side.

"Well if it isn't the prettiest girl in Panem!" Odair's voice was a sing song, grating every nerve in Coral's body with its lightness. Grip tightening on her knife, she rolled her eyes at the boy blotting out the sun. It turned the fairness of his hair into a bright halo and the titters that had swept through the market moments earlier had gravitated closer. Those titters were a warning call, one she hadn't paid close enough attention to. Somehow, Finnick always managed to find the stall when she couldn't escape. He even switched up his days to make it impossible to predict. Coral had ranted about it endlessly to her mother, receiving only a pitying look and a reminder that Finnick Odair was their best customer. Yet _another_ reason to detest him.

First, he'd done what her brother couldn't and now, _now_ he was the patron that kept shoes on her feet and food on their table.

"What're you looking for Odair?"

"Would a night with you be out of the question?"

"Go take an ice shower. Either order or _go_." It was for his own survival as much as anything else that Coral kept the conversation short. Stabbing Four's prime tribute in broad daylight was a sure-fire way to find herself on the blocks.

Most times when Finnick swaggered his way into the market, Coral made herself scarce. An errand to get more herbs. The delivery of an order to a stall down the far end of the market. Four wasn't built for competitive markets, with only five percent of the daily catch being allocated to their residents. It was up to the fishmongers to find a way to generate their sales. The more sales, the higher the allocation of fish to a stall. It was straight forward.

Gillian's crowning glory was in her processing. Where others scrimped and saved on other ingredients, she pushed her budget. The results spoke for themselves. Better ingredients, better cooking, better sales. It was a straightforward but powerful system and it was about the only thing that kept them from finding themselves demoted to one of the slum houses. Accommodation was tiered according to income, immediate reward for those who were able to push the lines in their favour. Coral had watched the endless rotation of homes directly before the reaping when the annual figures were due. Promotions, demotions. Another cog to make them all spend their time fighting one another instead of the system that had put them there.

Her mother's head for seasoning and processing, coupled with a knack for business, meant that while they'd lost their merchants home - they could still afford some luxuries. To retain that hold, they needed the games victor's seal of approval. These days where Finnick went, so too did public favour.

Coral's mind returned to the boy at hand and it took her a moment to realise that Finnick hadn't actually said anything in a while. Quite the feat for someone who seemed to adore the sound of his own voice.

"Mags said you'd be angry it wasn't her today."

"Mags doesn't waste my time with inane conversation when I have sales to make." Tone pointed; Coral put her knife aside. Gave Finnick her full attention. This way, he might vanish sooner and she could go back to seething at him from a safe distance.

"Just three today then. Got to keep us healthy and hearty before we head back to the Capitol." Her expression grew taut as a stretched elastic at his flippant disregard for his own words. Families bought a single fish from the stall to feed themselves for a week. _Just three_. The extravagance of it was infuriating. So much so that she almost missed it when he continued to speak in a more subdued tone. "Are you prepared for the reaping? You have two more, right?"

Caught off guard, Coral near dropped the bundle of wrapped fish in her hands. How dare he. _How dare he?!_ Securing the items into a bag, she thrust it at him.

"Is that all? I have other customers to see to."

Pointedly looking beyond him to the crowd that had appeared on his tail, Coral felt her eye twitch with the way his expression fell. Briefly. Feeling vindicated, she didn't take the money until he dropped the coins into the small tray.

"Talkative as ever. Keep the change Coral. May the odds be in your favour."

Smile forced and tight as Finnick retreated, fury burned in her chest.

Someday, she _would_ kill him and he'd only have himself to blame.

"You stare at that boy too much for your own health." Coral startled away from glaring at Finnick's retreating figure, turning a side glance to the familiar voice beside her. She hadn't even heard the canvas sheet move.

"You're not meant to be back here. My mother will be pissed."

"Fuck off, your mother loves me." Coral scowled, finishing off serving the woman who had been waiting behind Finnick before actually turning to the girl who had appeared behind her. Aveline Wyndham was just about the only person in the whole of Four that Coral trusted. Mostly because she'd wormed her way in and refused to leave.

With dark skin and impossibly angular features, Aveline was a nightmare for the ego. She accented her looks with a black-market trade in homemade cosmetics. A pearl diver by profession, Aveline collected trinkets from the seabed and utilised what she could to create lip stains and powders for the more affluent girls. Opportunities to dress up were rare, but Aveline prized herself on salesmanship. She could have sold a saddle to a seahorse if given half a chance.

At some point after Ford's games and the Swan's demotion to the middle homes, Aveline had decided she wanted to claim Coral as a friend. Resistance had been natural. It was difficult to continue hating the bulk of one's district when certain entities insisted on inserting themselves into her life. Somehow, it had happened regardless. Both the friendship _and_ the continued dislike of the rest of Four.

"Were you in the water today?" A side glance answered the question before Aveline did, dark skin accented by one of the Capitol issue swimsuits. If that hadn't been answer enough, she wore the tight braids she usually sported for her dives. "How much did you get?"

"Bad haul," Aveline sighed, ignoring Coral's protest as she snagged the packet of leftover bread Gillian had brought for Coral, using her teeth to tear through the hard crust, "I only managed to get seven big ones. I turned them over but you know how it is. At least I won't need to take out another tesserae this time around though."

Coral did know. _Five_ fucking percent of the catch. It was criminal, especially with people in such poverty they were willing to put their names countless times over just to feed their families.

"I mean it though; you _do_ stare too much. Half your year think you're helplessly in love with him Cor."

" _Shit!_ " Blood welled along her hand from where the blade met skin, Coral shoving her thumb against her lips to try and settle the sting. "Why would you even say something like that?"

"Because I listen to and tailor the gossip just for you." Coral glared, receiving a shrug in answer. "And if they think you love him, they're less inclined to report you if he's found in a pool of blood around the corner from your stall."

"Don't be ridiculous," The first aid kit dug out between managing another customer, Coral cleaned her hand with the small bottle of antiseptic and a below her breath hiss, "I'd at least wait – _thank you for buying from Swan fisheries Mrs. Semple, I'll tell my mother you were asking for her -_ until he was past the junction first."

" _Please_. You have absolutely no self-control when you get angry."

Aveline had a point, Coral's temper was barely restrained as it was. The first chance she got to justifiably throw that boy to the wolves, she _would_. It was the one flaw of being moral. She at least had to feel like there was enough reason to take him down beyond her intense hatred of him.

"It's funny though," Coral turned back to her friend as the girl polished off what would have been the only meal she'd have had between school and that night's dinner, "If I was to put money on one of you having any emotion other than your boundless rage, I'd put it on him what with how often he comes down to your stall."

Coral couldn't help it. She laughed. What an absolutely ridiculous notion. Finnick Odair had an adoring Fanclub to keep him occupied and when that failed, he was narcissistic enough to enjoy the sight of his own reflection in the water. Clearing the last of the present customers with a too tight smile, Coral moved back to where she'd been preparing fish for the front of the stand. It put her beside Aveline, breathing in the odd combination of rose oil and brine that trailed after the girl.

"He comes because he wants to flaunt his Victory money, and because he buys for Mag's when she can't make it. There's nothing more to it than that." Aveline's pursed lips suggested an argument rising, but it mercifully didn't arrive. The reminder of Mag was an adequate distraction.

"You'll see her on the reaping day right?" Coral nodded, "Think you could convince her to flaunt some of my products when she goes to the Capitol."

She bit back another laugh, unable to even being imagining Mags Flanagan trying to sell cosmetic products. First off, the woman was _old_. Second, she hardly even spoke anymore. Not since her accident a year previous. Rather than point that out to Aveline and her starry-eyed expression, Coral gave a sigh of acquiescence.

"I can ask her to ask Medea or Cove. They've bought from you before, but they probably won't want to try sell off black-market supplies right under President Snow's nose. Plus, they should busy keeping some poor kids alive." Her tone implied that Coral doubted this would be the case. It had been Mags who'd fought for Ford, not the other two victors from their district. Mags who had treated him as the kind boy he was. Dwelling on such things made her blood boil and Coral focused instead on the produce she needed to prepare for her mother to sell.

A scuffle on the other side of the canvas said the woman in question was back and Aveline looked immediately guilty. For all Gillian _did_ adore Aveline, she had no patience for distractions when her business was on the chopping block.

Coral felt a damp kiss against her cheek that heated her to her toes as her friend slung an awkward arm around her neck.

"I'll come meet you after dinner tonight for a while. Tell Gillian I said hello!" As Gillian appeared around one side of the canvas, Aveline disappeared around the other. Leaving behind the scent of rose, brine and a half-smeared mark of tan lipstick on Coral's pinked face. The venomous mood had lifted and by the time Coral collapsed into her bed tonight, she had almost forgotten that _that_ bastard had dared bring up the games in her presence. _Almost_.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just an FYI that I apparently only uploaded a partial draft of my original CH2 - it's now been fixed and completed. Enjoy! :D Also, feedback is always appreciated from anyone who'd like to leave it. 

For most people, reaping days were quiet. They were solemn looks across a table. Sunday finest trotted out when few people even utilised Sundays anymore. For Coral, they marked a strange tradition that had begun after Ford's death. Mags Flanagan on their doorstep had been jarring six months after the conclusion of the 63rd games, but what had been more jarring was her request. If Coral should go unnamed in the reaping, would she see to Mag's home in the Victors Village? In the years since, as Mags had aged, gotten ill and grown more reliant on assistance, the request had evolved to bimonthly cleanings. The odd shopping delivery. Mornings of the reaping, Coral's day started by a hike to Mag's home. The village itself was situated at the midpoint of the three subdivisions, clustered around merchant's homes and some of the more affluent stores.

All of it was constructed around the central square, colloquially known as the junction, with a collection of hills affording the wealthiest and luckiest residents a view right down to the ocean. White buildings. White sand. Creeping trees that afforded occasional moments of shade. In another world, the whole thing might even have been beautiful. Instead, there was a superficial air to the junction. It was _designed_ to be desired after. That, in essence, detracted from little charm it might have had.

Kicking off her shoes, Coral plodded the falsified sand path and wove her way between the giant palm trees. Already the sun had begun to rise, hot and unrelenting. By the time she'd reached the top of the hill to the village, the back of her dress was peppered with moisture. Already automobiles had gathered to cart the luggage of the victors down to the railway station. Despite knowing the routine, Coral's body still reacted to the visual. It was the uniforms that did it. White upon white upon white. Laughing. Joking amongst themselves.

Those same uniforms had been the ones who'd dragged her brother from the waiting room too soon. Who had told them to shut up when her mother's sobbing had grown too loud. A guffaw caught her attention, Finnick backing out of one of the other houses with a bag in his arms. Expression darkening, Coral darted around the back of the houses and found her way to Mag's place.

The house easily eclipsed any of the buildings Coral had lived in over the years.

A kitchen her mother would've killed to work out of. Multiple bedrooms on the second floor. The door at the back always remained open the days Coral was due and so she let herself in, cool tiles and an air generator providing instant relief from the heat outside. Shuffling from upstairs told her Mags was finishing up her packing. Though why she bothered was beyond Coral. There was enough money in this place for her to opt to bring nothing and buy as she went. Then again, Mags had never struck her as the type to do that. _Finnick_ , on the other hand.

It didn't cross Coral's mind that she'd just seen him loading up his travel luggage. That was the thing with blind anger. It found ways to support itself. A soft noise had her turning to greet Mags as she descended the stairs, Coral moving towards the woman to help her bridge the final few steps.

"Thank you." Mag's voice was quiet, a stroke two years previous having caused irreparable damage to her ability to speak. Most people wrote the woman off as incomprehensible, but that wasn't the case. Coral knew you just needed the right words.

"Kitchen or living room?" When the former was indicated, Coral helped the woman towards one of the chairs. Throwing a cautious look towards the door, she signed out the word _tea_? Mags gave a gummy grin in return before nodding. This was their shared secret. Sign Language had once been a given in Four. In the early years, each boat held its own sign language derivative. During storms, with raging winds and screaming seas - hand and light signals were the norm. Otherwise communication broke down altogether.

The Capitol had signed off on the introduction of a basic sign language to the schools. Too many bodies getting swept away on the water meant less workers. Less supplies. The initiative had lasted until the year of the thirty fifth games when a collection of rebels had gathered, their correspondence and planning run entirely in a language that didn't require words or written evidence.

Fighting had lasted three weeks. Twenty-two hundred had died. The signing programs were shut down and restricted only to those on the fishing boats. For every trawler, two peacekeepers were assigned to keep track of new signs. Of potential anarchy. It had been shortly after that when the lottery system had begun to distribute the area's wealth and contracts. A little time later again when the training programmes began. To see anyone utilising signing outside of fishing boats was tantamount to treason.

It was what had made Coral all the more determined to use it.

Mags had been the one to teach her. Once a month over tea and fresh baked bread, they sat at Mag's table and spoke about inane topics to mask what was happening with their hands. It was generally known that most homes were bugged for audio, especially with a minor rebellion already in their past. Video was too expensive, so they employed runners. _Spies_. The village was one of the few places where Coral could practice without fear of being sold out, but to do so with peacekeepers on the doorstep was asking for trouble. Still, with a reaping in a couple hours, she was struggling to feel scared about it. What were they going to do – _kill her_?

_Will you check in daily?_

_Yes. Is there anything you need me to do?_

_More fresh food for my return please. Could you check on the books too._ Coral's mouth twitched at the edge. Keeping an eye on the books was Mag's way of offering her free reign to the small study and its contents. Somewhere along the way she had confessed an interest in cooking to Mags, of expanding upon the skills her mother had taught her. Mags had then started to bring back books from the Capitol. Tomes on cooking as big as Coral's arm, chock full of ingredients and items she couldn't even have dreamed of. There was little opportunity to utilise the recipes but even so, she liked to peruse them and find substitutions.

_After these games –_

_If I don't get selected._ Mags made a sound of discontent and she laughed.

_After these games I'd like you to come back daily. Instead of your mother's stall. I've already asked your mother and she said if you're comfortable with that, she can find someone to fulfil your regular duties._

Coral rarely recalled the audible part of their conversations anymore, focused on the signs that passed between them, but once she'd parsed out the meaning of Mag's words a loud exclamation escaped her.

"What?"

_I'll pay you. A fair wage. I cannot cook anywhere near as well as I used to and I like your company. You understand me._

It was strange. To consider a future beyond the next couple of hours. To imagine it was even a possibility. In one way it was cruel of Mags to even ask. Tempting her with a possibility of something more than the fish market and inevitable death. Silence lingered too long and Coral looked, _really_ looked at the woman across the table. She had seen the photographs. Mags Flanagan had never been typically beautiful. Her face too long. Hair too mousey. Death, illness and time had all taken its toll on her features. Curled her body over. Even so, there was a kindness in her eyes that Coral rarely saw elsewhere. Mags was a woman who gave generously, most likely because she _could_.

It was strange to think this woman had once murdered people in an arena.

The thought was a screeching halt to her visions of warning her own income. Of escaping the monotony of the fish market. There'd been a joke once between her and Aveline that once they'd scraped together enough money, they'd share a house on the beach. Decorate the place with shells and treasures from the sea. An income of her own might actually allow that to happen.

"I need time to think about it."

Mags at least gave her the kindness of not looking disappointed. She changed the subject to what herbs Coral would like to cook with if she could procure them in the Capitol, and the distraction was good enough to pass another hour before she had to make excuses to leave. Both Coral and Mags had the good graces to look sheepish when they opened the door to reveal a team of aggravated peacekeepers still lingering, waiting to ship Mag's items to the train. Before Coral could step off the doorstep, she felt a hand on her wrist to pull her back. Found herself embraced in a tight hug.

"Your brother," It was a soft exhale, Mag's breath warm on her cheek, "Was a good boy." Coral's throat tightened; a small nod of agreement offered in return. The elderly woman released her out and murmured something that might have been - _but you're going to be better_. Unsettled, Coral left the village and walked back to town, meeting her mother in the junction and handing off the key to Mag's place. If luck worked against her, then someone would still need to check in on the house. Which was a funny thought, Coral realised. Luck had _already_ worked against her.

With three subdivisions, Four required two rounds of preliminary readings to whittle down their kids. Coral was again one of the lucky two hundred who made the final cut for the live show, an irony that was never lost on her. The reduction in numbers filtered out many of those from the training programs but not all. It was a lottery of who actually had the guts to volunteer. The unknown element of it all only added to the drama as far as the Capitol were concerned.

Coral thought of Fords reaping day. Before that year her brother had never made it past the first cull and that year, her first, they both did. When they'd grown nervous, their father had joked that the odds were still in their favour. The largest ever group from the training program had made the cut. Yet when all was said and done and with seventeen of the male career program kids in the final group - not _one_ had called out to volunteer. Part of Coral understood it. Volunteering meant an opening for death. It meant leaving behind everything they'd known on the thin promise of fame and future comforts. Except knowing the truth of the programs made it harder to stomach that not a single boy for that group had put themselves forward.

The training programs selectively preyed on the most poverty stricken. The ones who might benefit most from a combination of training and high rewards. Unlike the careers from districts One and Two, those from Four were kids plucked from the poorest homes. The places where three squares a day and the potential to fight for a better place for their families was a golden ticket.

Ford had been a boy of wealth and good fortune. Well loved. He'd not been a fighter and _seventeen_ boys who had been trained in combat from the time they could walk had simply stood back and led him march to that platform on his own. Without a cheer. Without comfort. Without a volunteer even when Solaris Pinkerton had called for them.

Since her first year, Coral made the cut every time. People crowed about the odds and favours but for her - the odds didn't give a shit about anyone. The odds were a loaded die.

The usual fanfare began. The promotional material speaking to the history of the games. Introductions to Four's former victors. Mags Flanagan. Medea Dancy. Cove Kim. Finally, Finnick walked to the stage, a casual smile and a swagger of his hips that sent a ripple of sighing victims across the crowd. It took an immense amount of strength for Coral not to roll her eyes.

Nails digging into her palm, Coral wondered where the subdued air had vanished to. Excitement was almost palpable around the crowd. Electric. She couldn't have said if it was genuine or panicked. The victor's arrival was the final countdown. Mothers' clung to handkerchiefs and those who couldn't bring themselves to whimper would laugh instead. What else could one do when facing a life clock of maximum three weeks?

Solaris's voice boomed out through the microphone, a hand at Coral's waist snagging her attention as the opening remarks began. A flash of dark hair and a red streaked smile was the signal that Aveline had found her and Coral spoke beneath her breath.

"Smile for the camera."

Aveline shot a wide-eyed innocent look towards the camera that had swung towards them in the second row of girls, the mass of teenagers waiting for the guillotine. As usual, the girl sparkled. This was Aveline's last year. After today, she'd never have to face the chopping block again. Which was good. Though she'd worked as a diver for years now, Aveline's mother being ill had meant that Aveline herself had taken on the role of caretaker for her younger brother and sister alongside her father. It was all that had stopped her participating in the camps. If she'd looked out for herself alone, then Ari and Eos would've been left with nothing _but_ the camps. For all those monstrosities were praised, not a citizen in the entirety of Four _willingly_ signed their name up. It was always for family. For love. To spare another sibling adding their name just to get a single tesserae.

As it stood, Aveline's name was in the original pool upwards of thirty times.

With luck, in the preliminary rounds her name had been drawn only once. Coral hadn't asked. Knowing the true number didn't help. With only six inclusions of her own in the initial draw among the thousands of eligible age kids, Coral knew it just took one to put her here. Everything after that was a kick in the teeth. Five of her slips had made the cut. Sensing her discomfort, Aveline's grip tightened against her.

"Here we go." Solaris was making a spectacle of moving to the tribute bowl. _Ladies first_. A pin could have dropped in the square the place grew so utterly silent. If Coral strained her ears, she could hear the rustle of paper in the bowl. The _clack clack clack_ of Solaris's high heels on timber. They laid the stage down especially the night before. It covered the high steps into their justice building that was inlaid with carved cherubs and angels. Some garish remnant of a distant past.

"Our female tribute for District Four is -," A breath. Coral's lungs strained with the pressure of staying quiet. She was twelve watching Ford climb his way to the stand. Fourteen, and Finnick's easy smile was a band pulled taut to breaking point. Seventeen. _Seventeen._

" _-Coral Swan."_

An exhale.

Dizzying reality swirled. The white of the cobbles beneath her. Sweat pooling in the small of her back and sticking the cotton of her dress to her skin. Somewhere in the crowd there was a cry. Her mother. _Her mother_. People parted. There was a direct route between her and the stage and all Coral could see was Finnick Odair and his too taut smile.

Solaris was calling out to her. Beckoning.

_Come to me._

_Come, Coral._

_Such a pretty lamb for the slaughter._

She couldn't hear past the ringing in her ears. Aveline had let her go. She was falling into an abyss. Seconds were centuries and eons and falling civilisations and she, Coral Swan, was going to die.

"WAIT -," Her leg had lifted, heel off the ground. It stalled.

"-I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE. I'LL DO IT. I'LL TAKE HER PLACE."


	4. Chapter Four

The waiting area was a bustle of white clad peacekeepers and cruel anticipation. Coral caught her reflection in one of the silver light fittings, normally tan skin almost translucent in the half light. There was a shell-shocked look to her face. One which she could see on repeat outside the window, recaps already being looped for the Capitol viewers. A new district would appear, already chosen tributes cut between dull minutes, and then there would be Aveline and Coral, hands clasped and bearing mutual expressions of horror. The seconds that had felt so much longer would pass, where she'd been frozen. Unmoving.

There was a disconnect between what she was feeling and what was on the screen. To see herself alone as the other girls had parted and Aveline retreated. Picking out a singular emotion on the video of her face was nigh impossible. She'd been a tempest. Horror. Pain. Disbelief. _Resignation_.

Watching it happen was as foreign as it had been in real time.

The version of her on film as she turned. As she saw Aveline's raised hand and the stark red outline of her lips.

Coral had driven an elbow into the face of the girl who'd tried to hold her back while Aveline moved around her. It had been a faceless peacekeeper who had held her tight at the boundary between girls and stage, who had clamped a hand over her mouth so that her screaming wouldn't detract from Aveline's moment. Not that anything had come. Every nerve had been paralysed with fear. With _rage_. She'd been utterly impotent in the face of everything.

A door slammed further down the corridor and Finnick appeared, watching her. For once his smirk was absent and before she'd had time to even think, Coral had the boy by his collar. He was taller than her. Stronger too, if the sharp sinew of his limbs was anything to go by. She'd lost the seconds it must have taken her to close the distance between them and it only served to piss her off more.

Coral couldn't hear anything above her heartbeat. She had one friend in this world. _One_. That girl was now sitting in a room about to be led off to _slaughter. In her place._

"Hey!" A shout rose at the far end of the hall and Finnick raised a hand to stall the peacekeeper who'd spotted them. There were white spots in her vision but words wouldn't come. Her nails were going to draw blood where she'd speared his shoulder.

"I'll do everything I can Coral." Finnick's voice, low and urgent and _pitying_ , was enough to shock air back to her lungs.

"If – if you let her die in there -," She hissed it with malice, eyes narrowed, "If you don't do _everything_ \- don't step foot back in this fucking district because _I'll_ finish the job the others didn't."

Finnick's face didn't look alarmed. Rather, it was sympathetic. _Sympathy_. What the fuck could he know about sympathy?! Living in the Victor's Village in a cosy home. Knowing he'd never have to face the games again. Knowing he had no siblings to lose and watch die. No true friends to mourn. Coral hated him with every fibre of her being right then but hating him wasn't going to keep Aveline alive. It was almost hilarious that only a few days back, Aveline had suggested people thought she was in love with this boy. There was no love in her expression now. Only contempt.

"Miss Swan; if you don't wish to be thrown from the building, I suggest you let go of Mr Odair." Coral loosened her grip, hands raised in a sign of compliance. She vaguely recognised the peacekeeper in front of her, a man named Linden who had always been kind. His face now was frosty. Coral met it with equal temperature.

"Leave her be. Let her see the Wyndham girl." Coral shot Finnick a mutinous glare but didn't resist when Linden took her by the arm and led her back to where she'd been before. Finnick called after them, voice steady. She planted her feet solidly enough to delay her escort.

"Coral, i- _when_ she comes back, she's not going to be who she was. It's going to be on you to help her deal with that." Linden looked coolly between them both, then rapped sharply on the door and announced that they had three minutes. She wasted no more time on Finnick Odair.

Aveline's arms were hooked around her neck before she had even made it the whole way in and in an instant, all of Coral's rage sagged away. What replaced it was immense sorrow.

"Come back to me okay?" The red lipstick was smeared, eyes watery and swollen. All of Coral's admonishments and questions died at the back of her throat, flooding her mouth with bile. "You come back alright?"

"I'll try. Cor, I'm going to try but -"

"No. _No._ None of that. You're going to _win_. You're going to come home and you and I are getting that place we talked about on the beach. With seashells in the window frames and I'll cook for you. Every night."

She wanted to say more. To tell Aveline that it wasn't just a fantasy to her. It was an opportunity to be more than what their parents would make them. A means to reclaim all the little things they'd lost from their childhoods.

Coral wanted to say everything. That she loved Aveline's black market make-up and how each pearl found and shared was a memory all its own. That without the girl in her arms in her world, Coral's life would've been utterly small and empty after Ford died. She'd rejected friendship and Aveline had rejected that rejection. Had pointedly told her as much on countless occasions. She wanted to say that what Aveline had given her was a gift she didn't want to keep.

She wished to tell her how to wield a trident and weave a net. Where to aim to kill. Aveline was a diver. A collector. She dabbled too often in pretty things to know how to survive. Except that she had to. She _had to_.

Coral needed to ask _why._ To understand what possible motivation could've inspired the girl in her arms to throw her life away for _her_. Aveline was sobbing too hard for her to even fathom how to pose the question.

"I want fresh fish every day." Coral agreed. "And you'll do the laundry but I'll always clean up after meals." Another agreement. "We'll visit old Flanagan on Sunday's and I'll show you how to dive for the best pearls. I'll buy a string of them just for you."

Coral and Aveline both swelled the space with fantasy.

Three minutes felt like nothing. Three minutes felt like forever. When Linden returned to pull her from the room, Coral resisted.

" _I had to do it Coral, I had to do it for you, you're too good to be twisted by them."_

Aveline wailed it, the sound piercing and heart breaking.

" _I'll take care of your family until you come home. Come home to me. Come home. I lo_ -"

The doors shut and with it went any opportunity to tell Aveline Wyndham that she had loved her as best as could. That she'd love her even when the blood flowed and stained her fingertips. She'd love her for surviving. Just as she would've loved Ford.

Shepherded from the building, Coral found herself staring into a now empty square. The spectacle was over. The tributes would leave soon. Coral tilted her head up to the sky and wondered when the horizon had split into fractals.

* * *

In the small kitchen, the Swan family occupied their shared table in strained silence.

"I'll send food down to the Wyndham's tomorrow. As much as I can spare."

Coral nodded; eyes unfocused. She couldn't remember the walk home. Was this her life now? Gaps in her memory. Emptiness. Her mother had been talking in short desperate bursts, of all the kindnesses she could offer in repayment for her daughter's life. Coral knew, _knew_ , her life wasn't worth Aveline's. That she was too bitter. Too angry. Too _much_ to be worth the life she'd just been offered. Mag's key twisted within her hands, around and around and around. Teeth embossed into her skin when another spasm hit her. Shock, her father had said it was.

Her father had attempted to draw her out of her stupor by speaking of work. Of tasks that could ground her to a halt against the spinning orbit of her thoughts. When she'd had to ask him to repeat the same thing four times, he'd given up.

Mind whirring with ideas, _means_ , to keep Aveline alive – all she could think of was the sleek train as it left the station. Of her best friend sitting on it, wined and dined for the next couple days. The training and judgements. Finally, the arena itself. What would it contain this time around? If there was water, Aveline would be able to swim. She was good with paints; she might be able to camouflage herself. Hide away from the other tributes.

Such things twisted themselves through her consciousness again and again, as if she had any means of getting word to Finnick to help him coach Aveline. She was bright, but modest. There were a million and one skills that might keep her alive in that place and yet the most obvious solution would've been to never speak up at all.

An ever-tightening knot had worked its way around Coral's heart and lungs, coarse rope tearing its way over soft tissue and fragile vessels until all she could feel was persistent pain. With Ford, there had been enough hope to act as a buffer. She'd had enough money and influence and wealth to imagine he'd be perfectly safe. Coral left the table to rifle through her own measly savings from the fish stall. From her boat trips. There was hardly enough there to even make a dent in a fraction of a sponsorship gift.

Late in the evening, the sun illuminating her room with a soft golden glow, Delmar entered her room to leave a small scrap of paper on the small beside table. There was a hesitation, as though he might say something. As though he might press the calloused palm of his hand to her bared shoulder and offer some kind of platitude. Except he knew it well enough that there were no platitudes to be offered.

Coral could see it in his face. The relief that warred with pity. That it wasn't her on route to the Capitol. Twisting away so she wouldn't have to look at him, her knees curled themselves to her chest.

She wanted to weep. To move. To scream and rebel against everything that had conspired to put her in this position. Impotent rage solidified her muscles. Made her even more useless than she already felt. Someday, she would bring the whole thing down. _Someday_.

Sleep claimed her at some unknown point and when she woke, her mother had left an oil lamp on her bedside table. Coral picked at the paper her father had left, examining the words it held with bleary eyes. From the bed, she could pretend it was just another day. From here, she had the brief luxury of ignorance and isolation. By the next morning all the screens would be erected and blaring the pre-Game preparations. The small window slotted between three and six would be her only solace.

Blinking away sleep, her eyes finally focused on the words before her. It was a confirmation of permit receipt. Instantly more awake, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Just prior to the games, the fishing permits were always assigned. In her youth, her father's vessels had always received a distance permit to go tackle the larger swells of fish off the coast. While day to day supplies could be found by early risers, the real money was in the permits. Snapping up things like different tuna, herring and more meant food on the table for months instead of days.

It was genius really, to release the permits the way they did. Most of the games extended out to three weeks of airtime. More than enough for a vessel to set about gathering a crew, supplies and haggling the length of time they'd get off the coast. With only two vessels in his possession now, her father rarely was granted any permit at all. Not when the likes of Pine fisheries existed, their fleet containing sixteen vessels (most of which had once belonged to the Swan's).

She wouldn't know until later how long their permits granted them, but it was a window of escape. Especially when Coral herself was listed as co-captain. It meant that whether Aveline came back or not, she might get a few precious days to bury herself in a life without sympathy or horror. Tomorrow, she'd talk to her father about leaving an open spot on the second boat so that Aveline wouldn't miss out when she came home. Granted, she was about as useful as a guppy for the tasks on board a long-haul vessel but none of it mattered in the wake of the small flickering band of _hope_ now swelling in her chest.

Aveline would come home.

There was simply no other option.


	5. Chapter Five

Coral made it through the first day of televised fanfare by sheer force of will. Every recap of Four's chosen victors began and ended with Aveline's volunteering, with Caesar Flickerman and _guests_ trying to pin down the nature of Aveline's relationship to Coral. They mused on motivations from glory hog to love struck fool and everywhere in between. At one point, she'd looked away from the screen near the market to see Mr. Wyndham hovering nearby, his face anguished as he watched her.

He had fled.

She had tried to give chase, abandoning her place at the stall in favour of pushing her way through dense crowds and peacekeepers in equal turn. The right thing for her to do would've been to just go down to the Wyndham's place with everything she owned as an offering. Except to do so would've been as good as admitting that she didn't think Aveline would come back.

With morning, the hope in her gut had dimmed but even so it wouldn't allow her to just _give in_.

Even so, each time the anthem played on the screens, Coral near took her own fingers off with the knives in the stall. School was postponed for the games, as was always the case. Education was far less important than televised murder as far the Captiol was concerned. So they turned it into a holiday. More time to sit around. To watch the debates and excitement as it all unfolded.

Vendor's were encouraged to slash their prices. All fishing excursions would be postponed until it was over. This was what the stored supplies were for, though it always seemed funny to Coral that Four saw little of the apparent fish stocks that were kept for these occasions. With all the pushes towards a celebratory atmosphere, it was still the districts that suffered for it. Those that recognised it irked her less than those who didn't. Children sporting headbands with imagery of their favourite victors. Adults wearing little silver tridents in memory of their last exemplary victory at the hands of Finnick.

When the market finally came to a halt for the day, it was her mother that told her not to work the following day. Perhaps not even the following _week_. She'd demanded it out of a desire to keep Coral's hands intact, a point that may have held some weight in it when Coral finally took in the day's damage. Nicks and cuts marked her like badges of distraction, red and raw where the most recent ones were.

If she was like this one day one, her mother pleaded, she'd have no hands at all by the time the games themselves started.

By the second day, Coral had to admit defeat. She couldn't work with the screens overhead. Couldn't face the lingering looks from every denizen of Four who passed her by on the streets. It was an easy matter to gather a few of her effects, make her excuses and move into Mag's place until everything was over. Tasked with keeping the place clean and ready for the woman's return as it was, it was easy to claim one of the beds and unoccupied rooms.

Mags, thankfully, wouldn't mind.

The victors village held their own screens for the three weeks of the games, allowing kids to watch their parents give interviews and guide other tributes through the ensuing chaos. In Four, the only others watching at the village were Medea's kids and husband. Medea herself had apparently stepped down as mentor to allow Mags and Finnick take point in Aveline's survival. Stepping down as mentor didn't allow for any holiday from the Capitol with the four most recent victors always required to show face for the games. To sell their districts, to celebrate with the citizens of Panem's finest. Since Finnick was the fourth, it meant each year Mags, Medea, Cove and Finnick had no choice but to attend.

If – _when_ \- Aveline won, she would replace Mags in the line-up.

Coral's hopes slowly grew in the days before the interviews. Finnick, to his credit and Coral's bafflement, spoke constantly of underdogs and underestimations. From the side of some new floozy, gold accents swept across his eyelids – he told the Captiol to _watch this space_. From Mag's house, Coral's world narrowed down to sleep and the screens. To Aveline and Finnick. Aveline scored well in the rankings. Gained notice for her striking looks. For the pop of red on her lips as she'd volunteered.

By the day of the interview, even Flickerman was bowing at Aveline's feet. Hair a horrid shade of lime green that Coral couldn't take her eyes off of, he complimented the way her teal dress contrasted her dark skin. Aveline _was_ beautiful. More so even than District One's girl, all luminosity and false laughter.

Aveline was the sea during a wild storm at midnight. She was radiant. Coral wept as Aveline told Flickerman how her stylist had agreed to allowed Aveline herself to do her own makeup. Promised to share the secrets with the Captiol if they'd have her back. It was twisted and sincere and confusing all at once.

This wasn't her Aveline. _Her_ Aveline swore like a sailor, gave little care to what others thought of her. She wouldn't have ended up as Coral's friend otherwise. In the last few seconds, Flickerman asked why she'd volunteered. What her connection was to the Swan girl that had been called.

" _Love Caesar, we all do such foolish things for love don't we? But if we didn't, then we wouldn't be human."_

" _Do you regret it?"_

" _Not even for a second."_

The lights dimmed and then Aveline was gone. Coral's heart was in her mouth. She couldn't breathe. Could hardly function. It was despicable, but she didn't even recall the name or face of the boy that followed. All that mattered was Aveline.

That night the screens were given a rest and the world faded down to Coral and a too big bed. Knowing that nightmares would follow sleep, she drowned her sorrows in a bottle of spirits unearthed from Mag's bedroom.

By the time she passed out, Coral dreamed of victories and luck and faith and _love_ and Aveline. _Always Aveline_.

* * *

The arena was a savanna. Sands interspersed with tall grasses and the occasional trees. Rife with hidden terrors. Eleven died in the initial bloodbath at the cornucopia. Aveline was not one of them. Four more died crossing a pack of mutts during their escape. Creatures that looked like striped horses, black and white. Whose teeth glowed in the half light of the morning as they ripped the kids apart.

Aveline trekked to the edge of the arena and back in her first day as she sought water. Food sources. Used wildflowers and mud to create her own camouflage that kept her out of sight of the careers. It couldn't mask her scent. The coverage thrilled in the chase as some kind of wild cat followed her. As Aveline moved unawares into her first night trying to find herself tools for survival.

There was one sponsor gift in the fading light of the day. A cannister of some foul looking paste that she rubbed onto her skin and seemed to repel the cat. Coral breathed a sigh of relief. Prayed the luck would last.

No sleep came the first night.

Coral watched as Aveline pulled herself awkwardly into a tree. Ignored all footage of the others unless they posed immediate threat. Moonlight was sparce in the arena but it was enough to let her see her best friend twist a silver shape between her fingertips. A small charm bracelet that had to have been received in the Capitol. A piece of Coral.

Medea's husband came out somewhere around three to drape a blanket across her shoulders. He didn't try to move her. To urge sleep. Coral wondered if he had been in love with Medea before she'd entered the arena. If he'd felt the same things that now consumed her. Fickle hope. Fragile sanity. Clawing fear.

Coral sat watch over Aveline from miles away, fingers clasped in prayers to who knew what.

 _Bring her home to me_.

 _Bring her back_.

It was with the dawn that the cannon came. That Coral startled out of her doze. Footage switched between the remaining career pack around the cornucopia. Around the two tributes from district three who were sleeping back to back. To elevens boy curled into a hole in a tree. To sevens girl as she hunkered low in the grasses, not moving an inch. It was a lifetime before the camera zoomed in on Aveline's face and the brightly coloured spider that had left its bite at her cheek.

To the slackness of her body and the wrist hanging over the branch of her final resting place, silver coral glinting against the sunrise.


	6. Chapter Six

District One claimed a victor in the sixty eighth hunger games and three days later, Coral was pulled from her bed before dawn.

"Be on the boat in a half hour. I've filled that extra spot." Her father had never been the most affectionate man, but then, Coral suspected it was difficult to muster affection when financial ruin and a lost child were never far from his thoughts. Nodding, she gathered her things.

Most of the supplies would be on the boat but Coral had packed some fresh laundry, a small first aid kit of her own and the last of the herbs Mags had brought back last year. While the permit granted her rights to leave Four, her mother would take over the trips to the victors' village. Explain the situation to Mags.

The boat she'd been assigned been given just over a week and a zone that would take a full day sailing to reach. Her father's trawler would be a couple hundred miles further south. After A – _the games_ – Coral had thrown herself into preparations. Checking the equipment, stocking the galley, ensuring the accommodations were adequate. Mapping out the kinds of work rosters, shifts and skillsets that would be required. Feeding information back to her father.

Once on the water, she would designate herself to the bulk of cooking duties and night-time shifts. Pat Tully would be her second, ensuring their navigations went well. Most people from Four that signed up for the excursions already had experience with fishing, were good swimmers or trained in managing the ice systems that kept the fish fresh before it was brought back to shore. There would even be a member of the factory processing team on hand to keep standards on track.

All of it meant that Coral's role was simply to ensure that their quotas were met and that the stern trawler made it back safely. It was a position she'd filled at her father's side since she'd been able to walk. Her earliest memories were of her and Ford running underfoot on the long excursions, driving the fishermen up the walls in the process. It would've been difficult to _not_ learn the necessary skills with that upbringing.

While much of the districts lived with technology from before the last great rebellion, one of the few places the Capitol were willing to sink money into was their food supply. The Swan's two remaining trawlers were therefore equipped with minor processing capabilities and an ability to store all the catch over a week. They had top of the range radar, weather systems and communications. Historically, such trips could've taken up to six weeks but these days – the Capitol disliked having to go _too_ long without their fresh catch.

Coral didn't doubt that it was somewhat more difficult to track down a ship that didn't come back after six weeks too.

Her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead as she left, smothering her in a tight embrace. Returning it until her chest felt too tight to draw breath, Coral extracted herself and revelled in the growing sense of freedom as she walked through Four's quiet streets. Her father had already headed down to the docks to get his own journey underway. They'd keep in contact during the trip but, for now, she was on her own.

* * *

"Got the roster Swan, if you want to check it over?" Coral took the offered clipboard off Tully with a tight smile, glancing absently at the names on the list before shaking her head.

"I'm good. I've already checked it about seventeen times this week." Breathing in the scent of engine oil and salty air, Coral rested her arms on the control panel that Tully would be operating for the next week or so. Technology had always alluded her. Coral could rig nets in minutes. Hold her breath longer than most of her classmates when underwater without beginning to panic. She was even adept with knives and tridents when called for but the levers, knobs and lights spread across the control room was double Dutch to her. Some of it she could understand. Red lights were bad. Alarms were worse. That was about the extent of it.

She'd learned as a kid how to determine that the freezers were damaged, and that it was just as important to keep watching for signs for wear and tear in the winches but when it came to everything else – she was happy to leave Tully to his work. It had taken less than an hour for the trawler to take off for duty and it'd be at least five more before they would have to readjust their travel plans to make it to the accepted fishing grounds. Flicking past the list of crew, Coral threw a final eye over the permits and coordinates of their final destination. Soon enough, the land behind them would fade and leave nothing but sea and horizon. Not for the first time, Coral was utterly relieved. Away from Four, from her memories – it loosened the knots that had tangled themselves somewhere between her heart and lungs.

Leaving the clipboard aside, Coral gave an imperceptible nod towards the windows and the two white clad soldiers beyond them.

"Who got assigned to us this time?"

"Simpson and Zimmerman. Not the best but could've been worse. Heard your old man got Ennis." Coral pulled a face. Harold Ennis was an elderly peacekeeper who must've pissed off a higher up at some point. He was assigned to the long-haul boats every year and _every year_ he spent the bulk of it with his head over the side. Once he'd had to do a three-week stint and had come back half the man he'd been when he left. No matter what he did, Ennis couldn't hack the trips.

"Zimmerman can be a fucking ass, but Simpson's fair. She'll keep him in line." No one _liked_ the peacekeepers but for the sake of sanity, it was worth having them on side. Especially when their reports could make or break the owner of the trawlers. "Make sure she gets first pick in the galley later. If there's trouble we want them to be on our side after we get back."

Tully nodded. He was a gnarled looking man, older than her father but loyal. Even after Ford and the loss of their money, he signed up every year to work with them. Coral suspected the only reason her father didn't have him running the second trawler outright was borne from paranoia alone. He expected everyone to betray him at the drop of a hat. Not that Coral was much better. With the exception of Mags and A- _her_ – she could count allies on one hand. She liked to imagine that Tully was at least one of them.

"I meant to ask," Tully shifted his weight forward as if looking onto the deck below them, drawing Coral's gaze after him, "Who signed off on him?"

For a brief instant, the world stopped on its axis. Coral had pushed herself to her toes to see who was on the bow below. There was Matthews, and Janson and –

_And –_

She didn't remember leaving the control room. Didn't remember getting down the stairs and crossing the distance to narrowest point of the bow with her fingers clasped around the throat of Finnick Odair and her weight forcing him against the metal.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing on _my_ ship?"

He was stronger than her, a fact evidenced by the pull of muscle as he strained against her grasp but she'd caught him by surprise. He kept himself from being tossed overboard by sheer will alone. Illusions of freedom were vanishing before her eyes and Coral could feel the tight box she'd locked Aveline into coming undone.

Finnick was clawing at her wrist with one hand and holding his weight against being knocked to the water with his other. She wanted to bury her nails into his skin and tear out his throat. Wanted to end his miserable existence so she could sleep at night.

Her mouth flooded with bile and anger and it was Tully's arms that snagged themselves around her waist to pull her back. Fighting it, the girl was torn between her blind rage and the awareness that this trip needed bodies if they were to meet their quota. Even if she'd have happily taken on the work of four men if it meant snuffing out the boy whose lips were turning blue from the pressure she was putting on his airways.

Tully tugged hard and she came away from Finnick, her index finger outstretched at him.

"You don't get within eight feet of me for this week do you hear me? I swore I'd end your life Odair and I _will_. You just try me and _I will_."

Piece said, Coral threw off Tully's embrace and barked orders the whole way down to the galley. What fucking game was her father playing in filling Aveline's space with _him_? Alone, her body bowed tight under the weight of her grief and shame. The tears came and didn't stop.

Not a soul disturbed her until she rang the bell to signal breakfast and by then, her expression had become solid and unyielding. There was work to be done. If she was to survive it, then she'd simply have to pretend Finnick Odair didn't exist.

* * *

The next four days passed remarkably quick, life on the trawler never short on tasks that needed doing. Coral kept the galley going with the help of an older fisherman named Mako. He was chatty to the point of distraction, but he also knew how to cook better than ever her mother could. Between check ins with the forty odd members of their crew, daily updates on the status of equipment – Mako taught Coral how to rig together a meal fit for kings from the basic items they were allowed by the Capitol. Meals for emperors when she happened to add Mag's herbs into the mix. Mako had taken the bags reverently, as though she'd offered him something precious. There was something in that gesture that affected her. In what world was it the right to keep a master from his tools?

When she could pretend Finnick wasn't somewhere nearby, Coral almost forgot about Panem and the Capitol and the _Games_ altogether. She was just a girl with a job to do. A girl who passed out in her bunk without even the energy to dwell on her nightmares. It had been the most exhausting four days of her life in recent memory but also the _best_.

Sometime during a nap on her fifth day, Coral came up fighting as Tully shook her awake. If he hadn't, the sudden lurch of the trawler itself would have.

"Cap, we've got a problem."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes and following her second up the control room, she could hear the cries of others coming from the winches off the back of the boat. Instantly alert, Coral was thrown off her feet as the trawler lurched again. A dreadful creak filled the air.

"What did we hit?"

"Don't think we've hit _anything_. I was watching the shoals down below but it looks like they make have been masking something. The nets are caught. I left Angelus to try and pull us free."

Coral's expression tightened.

"Kill the engines! We lose our winches and we're fucked."

Tully moved to action as Coral raced back down the steps and sized up the crew. Most of them were older folk, ones who worked best in the gathering and gutting process. In the repairs. Fuck.

It was almost sunset; around the point she'd have been waking up to sort the meals with Mako. Taking over the night shifts. The sun blasted the water with reds and golds, light blinding as it glinted off the surface in places. Winches creaking again, Coral snapped for one of their engineers to check the systems over.

"You," This she barked at Zimmerman, "Give me your knife."

Stripping down, Coral had herself down to underwear before the Peacekeeper moved. " _Now!_ And tell Tully not to restart the engines until I'm back!"

Taking the blade in hand, its sheath still on, pulling a deep breath into her lungs – Coral dove from the back of the boat. The water was a shock at first impact, but she pushed through it. Her father's other trawler was a seabed collector, lowering all the way to the ocean floor for their catch. This one, mercifully, worked at about half distance to pick up the shoals closer to the surface. She wasn't as likely to end up ill on her return to the surface. _Hopefully_.

Swimming down until she hit the mass of nets, Coral wanted to cry. The bloody things were full, but they also happened to be wrapped around the tall mast of some old buried wreck. All at once glad that Aveline had made her free dive with her during their Sunday's, Coral glanced at the watch on her wrist. She was going to have a window of two minutes max to cut the net free and then get back to the surface. For the first time since Aveline's death she was furious at the girl herself. Here was something she'd have been able to do with far greater ability than Coral and, _where was she?_

Trying to focus her anger down so that she could get through the net, Coral was glad of Zimmerman's toothed blade. It was slow, her own head getting foggy as she worked but she could see the weak points where the net had gotten caught. If she managed to sever sixty percent of them, it would hopefully allow them to pull free. Fish clouded her vision as she created spaces for them to escape, but she was too slow. A pain had started below her lungs, like she was going to throw up.

Exhaling out the gases building in her lungs, Coral hoped it bought her enough time to get back to the surface. She'd have to come down again – there was no other –

A hand tapped against her shoulder and she turned.

Finnick Odair was gesturing for her knife, shoving at her shoulder for her to move. If she'd had the strength, she'd have sworn at him. Instead she pointed out the places for him to cut and began the ascent back to the boat.

Coral's head was so fuzzy by the time she broke the surface and gasped for oxygen that it took two of the men to pull her into the trawler again. Dry retching onto the deck, Tully arrived with a blanket and an emergency oxygen tank that he hooked over her face. His face, full of concerned judgement, swam in and out of focus. A clamour from the steps told her Finnick had made it back but she could hardly align her thoughts well enough to think let alone move. Attempting to stand, she fell forward and before she could protest – the world went dark.

* * *

Blinking against the flickering lights above her, it took almost a minute for Coral to place herself. The med bay on the trawler was little more than a box room with first aid kits and a bed. There was no qualified doctor on the trawler either, the Capitol having ruled against it. Doctors were needed in the most populated areas. One or two fisherman that died due to negligence was hardly _their_ fault.

Groaning against her headache, Coral turned to see Finnick in a chair opposite. He was awake though he too bore the brunt of too long under water. His usual cheery smile had vanished, replaced with a green undertone to his skin. If she hadn't been so tired, she might have taken pleasure in that knowledge.

"How's your body feeling?"

" _Spec-tac-u-lar_." Coral drawled, each syllable dripping with sarcasm. Finnick rolled his eyes at her and sat forward, elbows on his thighs.

"Coral, you were down there for six minutes and it took you half the time to come up as it did to get down." His expression, riddled with sincerity, pissed her off but not as much as his next sentence did. "So, when I ask how you're _feeling_ , for once in your life give me a straight fucking answer."

What irked was that he was right. What _surprised_ her was the drop in his usual charm. This Finnick, serious eyed and glaring – she might have actually liked. Swallowing, she took stock of her body for the warning signs. No lower back pains. Her stomach hurt from retching, but beyond that her chest and abdomen felt fine. There was an ache in her shoulder but it could as easily have been the swim as it was anything else.

"I don't have the bends. I'll survive." Pushing herself into a sitting position, it was difficult to miss how Finnick's body relaxed. Looking away from him and the too green outline of his irises, she asked. "Why did you follow me down there?"

"Why did you go down at all? We could've unhooked the nets and replaced them with spares." Coral laughed, annoyance spiking. He was so ignorant.

"What makes you think we could afford _spares_?" Finnick blinked once, brow furrowing. Coral's sigh was a mixture of fatigued and aggravated as she explained her thinking. "It's easier to repair the nets than it is to replace the winches. If I didn't go down, we'd have no chance of making the quota we need to get accepted into the permit lottery next year."

He at least at the sense to look ashamed of himself and though she wanted nothing more than to have him gone, for the first time Coral was realising something. He was her only link to Aveline's last days. Hatred warred with need and her knuckles gripped the bed so hard they turned white.

"Did it have to be you?" He asked when a few minutes silence had passed and Coral arched a brow.

"Tell me who else it could've been? This is _my_ trawler. The three youngest people on this boat are Simpson, you and me. I did the mental math. Simpson's an import, there's not a chance in hell she could've held her breath long enough to help and _you_ –" She was still confused by how he'd been able to do it. From what she knew of him, Finnick's father had worked in the factories. His mother on the day to day boats where he himself had picked up the skills he'd used in the arena. Sensing the question, he relaxed back on his chair.

"My mother was a free diver like Av-," He broke off, alarm in his expression before he could control it and Coral was treated to something she'd never seen before. The dive had robbed him of his glow and his easy smile but the almost mention of Aveline's name contorted what was left into something twisted and broken.

"I'm so – _fucking hell Coral_ , before she went in, she told me to look out for you and you just _flung_ yourself into danger today. I promised her, and _you,_ and I nearly let you both down. If you'd drowned today, if you hadn't woken up –"

"I don't need your _protection._ " Coral flung it at him with every ounce of venom she could muster, disgust pulling at her features. How dare he try make all this about _him_. "I don't even want to _look_ at you."

"But you're going to need _someone_. Who else do you have now? Aveline tol-"

The hatred won. Coral slammed her hand into the trolly beside the bed, metal tools and supplies landing with a clatter across the floor. Glass broke.

"STOP SAYING HER NAME. YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT. YOU DON'T GET TO PRETEND SHE WAS ANYTHING TO YOU. STOP ACTING LIKE YOU'RE ANYTHING TO ME!" It exploded from within, past the bile and the ache in her throat. Past the exhaustion and the grief. "STOP BEING NEAR ME. STOP TALKING TO ME! I HATE YOU. I _HATE_ YOU!"

It became a mantra, Coral's shouting shattered as sobs caught her breath. Finnick had pushed his chair back with alarm and he stood over her as she sank to the floor, head in her hands.

"Cora-"

"Leave me alone. _Leave me alone."_

She wanted Aveline. She wanted Finnick to die in Aveline's place. _She_ wanted to die.

It would certainly have been easier than being left behind, buried in her guilt and her fear and her loathing. Easier than knowing the worst part was that Finnick was right.

_Who else did she have?_


	7. Chapter Seven

From the moment the trawler docked back at Four, Coral wanted nothing more to do with Finnick Odair. She didn't even want to hate him anymore. She wanted his existence to cease.

It was a task that was easier said than done.

Everywhere she turned, _there he was_.

Taking her job up with Mags again altered her days from her old routine. Another balm to the absence of Aveline. In the morning she saw to the fishing off the coast, drawing in the catch for her father and ensuring that Tully kept everything going smoothly. Delmar had another week on his route before he'd return with the other boat, not that it made all that much of a difference at home. When he was there, he was hardly more than some kind of automated being. He had been since Ford had gone.

After the trawlers came school. By evening, she headed straight to Mag's to organise the cooking, cleaning and prep work for the next day until she could make it back home, fall into bed and start all over.

Her first day went off without a hitch, on the second Finnick had inserted himself into Mag's house as if he owned the place.

"Hope you don't mind an extra mouth for dinner, Mags says what you made yesterday was great." Finnick's smile was too polite. Guarded. Coral, unable to actually throw him out on his arse when the house wasn't her own, simply grunted.

He managed to get under her feet at each task. Offering to fetch items. Asking what he could do to help. The enthusiasm was disturbing. No one _wanted_ to spend their days gutting fish, cleaning out bathrooms or changing bed linens. At least, no one Coral knew. Except, apparently, for Finnick. He was there and chatting at every corner.

Aware that she was at Mag's beck and call, Coral bite hard enough on her tongue that it finally began to bleed. Surviving the four hours in the place had taken every ounce of strength, a feeling only compounded when he announced Mags had instructed him to see her home.

Coral endured it. _Somehow_.

The walk home was smattered with Finnick's absentminded chatter. He flooded her with useless information. How to spot the best food in the Capitol. How to sharpen a trident without damaging it. The best way to craft a fishhook so Mags wouldn't judge you with despair. By the time they reached her house, he had launched into a long recounting of one of the bedtime stories his mother had read to him as a child. Fingers clasping and releasing in a steady beat, Coral didn't even bid him farewell as she closed the door on his face.

Furious, she also felt a flicker of pride that she hadn't resorted to violence. She could just ignore him.

She _could_ do this.

The following day, he wasn't at there when she arrived and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. When he burst through the door, Coral's eyes found the old grandfather clock at the end of the upstairs hallway. Thirty minutes of peace. That was all she'd gotten. Resigned, she gathered her supplies and moved back to the lower floor.

"I picked up some fresh stuff from the market for you Mags," He bounded into the kitchen ahead of her, smile wide and almost childlike. Coral wanted to run him through with the mop in her hand. "They had shellfish down there today, said I'd spare you the walk. Plus, I can't wait to see what you do with all the herbs Mags brought back."

She didn't understand it.

On the boat, she'd demanded he leave her alone. She'd yelled and wept and finally, he had avoided her as effectively as she'd wanted him to. _Now_ , he was looking at her with earnest smiles. Carrying heavy items up the stairs before she could get to them. It had been a single day and she already felt _smothered_.

Looking past the boy to Mags, she saw the older woman watching them intently before looking away. As though waiting for a pin to drop. Gritting her teeth, Coral refused to give either of them the satisfaction of blowing up.

"Hand them over."

It was the first civil thing she'd managed to get through her teeth since the trawler and it still took most of her self-control to land it. Finnick, grinning wider, did as he was told.

He offloaded the fresh items into her arms and Coral tried not to shudder. She'd spent so long hating him that she'd almost convinced herself that his skin would be scaled or something. Instead, it was impossibly smooth. _Inconceivably_ smooth. Fingers moving before she could stop herself, the girl found herself staring at the arm she'd grabbed.

There was a tan. Clearly defined muscle. He bore the recent marks of the trawler work, fingertips raw in places but beyond that – his skin was smooth as an infant. No callouses. No scars. For someone who had been raised in a fishing district, who had partaken in the games – it made no sense whatsoever.

Under her touch he was as unblemished as a new-born dolphin hide. Her touch lasted all of a couple seconds before he firmly pulled back from her.

Coral's eyes widened but by the time she'd looked up to press the matter, Finnick's face had shuttered down. Typical. The _first_ thing she found interesting about him and he closed her out. Mags was watching them both avidly again and the girl gave an aggravated sigh. Coral, despite her misgivings, found herself offering the boy a reprieve. "I have some dinner to prep and its fiddly. I could use extra vegetables to be prepped and served with the fish but we're out of potatoes and samphire."

He left the house faster than one of the Capitol's tribute trains and Coral looked back to Mags.

"What the hell was that about?"

Mags, infuriatingly cryptic, shrugged her shoulders. Not sure why it irked her when she wanted to forget the boy existed at all, Coral swallowed down the accusation that it was a lie. If she started gaining interest in him, then she was no better than the foolish twits following him about on the streets vying for attention.

When Finnick got back, the smile had returned and he sat down at the table to listen as Mags read from one of her many books. Loathe to admit it, Coral found herself realising that standing at the stove and finishing the dinner preparations to the sound of Mags broken reading and Finnick's occasional interjections – it might have been the most normal homelife experience she'd had in years.

* * *

Mags had insisted she stay to share the dinner against Coral's protests. Stuffed, confused and tired, she felt her old frustrations rising as Finnick fell into step beside her for the walk home once again.

Determined to ignore him, she studied the cobbles underfoot. Counted the windows on the homes they passed. Every so often her gaze moved back to him and his now sleeve covered arms. Whatever was hidden beneath the fabric, he was conscious of it. Biting down on the inside of her cheek to try and realign her thoughts the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

Worst of all, the longer the silence ran, the more aggravated Coral grew. Eventually she burst out.

"What on earth do you _want_?"

"Just to walk you home. Like I said."

"That's horse shit and you know it." Coral whirled on him, ignoring the bemused looks from passers-by. At this hour of the evening there were few people, but she knew that by tomorrow morning it would be prime gossip across Subdivision A. Finnick Odair and his latest _girl_. It wasn't helped by the fact that Finnick was smiling that _stupid_ smile of his, wide and uncompromising. Coral detested it. She hated more that it was actually beginning to have an effect on her. Subtle. A flicker of something in her chest. _Awareness_. The smile was a mask.

He opened his hands wide, an invitation for her to continue.

"Ever since you came back, you've been hounding me. I'm not some wilting flower that needs your _protection_ , and I keep telling you to get lost but somehow you keep showing up. You're the equivalent of a bad smell. You're two-week-old fish that can't be lifted out of the drapes." Not that fish ever lasted _that_ long in any home here, but she was seeking a nerve. A means to shake off the puppy dog look he was throwing her way now. "Every damn corner I turn you're _there_. I'm sick of it. I _told_ you to leave me alone."

Finnick buried his hands into the pockets of his trousers. In the evening light, there were flecks of hazel in his eyes. Coral wasn't sure when he'd gotten so close to her. When she'd _let_ him. From here she could see the freckles smattered across his nose. Sun bleached strands that curled atop his head. There was a grim edge to his smile and Coral felt almost wretched for being the cause of that after what had happened earlier. Just as quickly she recalled that she was meant to hate this boy. The embodiment of all that was wrong in her world.

Even so, she preferred having justification to act terribly. Attacking him to protect Aveline, to protect her own fragile psyche – that was one thing. Chipping away at his smile for her own vindication was another.

"You're the only person in this place that treats me like I'm still an annoyance."

Coral's jaw dropped; eyes narrowed. There was a pause for breath and then -

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"Is it?" He kept his voice low and sauntered closer. To anyone else, their situation would've looked altogether intimate. This close to him, Coral had to tilt her head upwards to see fully into his face. "Do you remember after my victory tour? I sauntered up to your stall and you buried a knife into the counter beside my hand. Told me I was a _murdering little pissant_ and just because everyone else was going to fall over themselves to pretend I was some innocent prince, _you_ knew I was little more than a wretched excuse for a human being who used to puke every time he had to gut a fish."

Coral didn't remember a word of what he was saying. The knife might have been true, but everything else? She cringed at the clarity with which he'd spoken, knowing she'd been propelled through life by fear and loathing alone for years. It was well within her wheelhouse to have said such things to him. Of course, she felt much the same these days but found herself channelling violence or quiet fury over direct attacks. Unwilling to compromise on the idea, she scoffed.

"You're talking shit again."

"You don't remember because for you it was some regular workday. For _me_ it was a person besides Mags who didn't burst into tears or applause when I walked in the room." She started to shake her head, to deny that she could've had _any_ profound effect on this boy. From the minute he'd been crowned victor for Four, Coral had seen nothing but the evil inside him. Had funnelled every trace of her rage against Four and their abandonment of her brother, the loss of her home and wealth, into _him_. He was meant to be an easy target. Something _tangible_ to actively hate. She wasn't meant to be a moment of _enlightenment_. "So, tell me, is it ridiculous to want _one_ person my age who remembers me before? Who isn't falling over themselves with relief that I'm alive? Who isn't determined to _be_ me, or pity me, or _fuck_ me?"

She hated him. She did. Right to the core of his being. Every cell that composed him. She hated it. He had been afforded boundless privileges that others had not and he had the cheek to bemoan it? So _what_ if it was a little uncomfortable at times. Fingers curling to fists Coral broke eye contact with him.

"I can't be that for you. I'm not some _tool_ for you to cling to because the world sucks. You being here, _always_ here – it makes me _hurt_." It reminded her that Aveline was gone. That Ford had been abandoned. That she was left with nothing but her anger and her grief. That all that waited her in the future was either the games or a life of embittered agony like her father lived. Days of working to survive rounded out by a bottle of spirits. She might even take after her mother, weeping into the pillow when she thought no one else could hear. It might have worked in their old home, but the place they were now had walls too thin. Curtains too threadbare. Every part of her life was hanging on by a fucking thread and Finnick had the cheek to actually pretend like he didn't hold the entire of Four in his palm.

"Then aren't _you_ tired of fighting all the time?" Her breath hitched in her throat, Finnick reaching forward to press a hand to her shoulder. Holding her from running away. She thought of the boat. Of Aveline. "Of being so angry? Wouldn't it be nice to have someone who sees the real you again?"

" _You don't know me_."

Each step that humanised him was a step in the wrong direction. Coral had nurtured and clung to her anger for so long now that to simply let go was impossible. It felt like the only thing keeping her going some days. The only thing propelling what little was left in her life.

"I know that Aveline loved you," It knocked the breath from her lungs and she staggered backwards, "I know that she told me to keep pushing you until you accepted that you needed a friend as much as I did. I'm not stopping Coral. You can fight me all you want, but I'll be here. Every day. I promised Aveline to watch out for you and I _don't break my promises_."

"Oh really?" Finnick recoiled from the bladed sarcasm as Coral's focus snapped back with all the force of an elastic to bared skin. "You _keep_ your promises, do you? Then why the fuck is she _dead_ Finnick? Where were her allies in there? Where were _you_?"

The tide turned and Coral jabbed a finger into his chest.

"I'm alone _because_ of you. I fight all the time _because_ of you. I'm angry _because_ of you. So please, _stop_ using Aveline as your motivation because all I have to do is _look_ at you and feel like I am _dying_ inside again. You're a leech. You take good things and _ruin_ them. Why would I give you the last shards inside me for you to destroy them too?"

Finnick had gone pale as Coral gestured and spat her words at him. It didn't matter that there was something beneath his mask. It didn't matter that Aveline may or may not have asked him to be there for her. What mattered was his embodiment of everything that was wrong in her world, and that he finally – _finally_ – left her alone to suffer in silence.

Stealing the last word, Coral had almost escaped before Finnick found his voice. _Almost_.

"Because you're so angry no one else will take them from you for fear of cutting themselves raw. I'm not afraid of you Coral. You don't have to be afraid of me."

Lungs scrabbling for air, she could feel moisture starting to burn behind her eyes.

_How – how dare he?_

Turning her nose up, she shot one parting statement before running.

" _Go fuck yourself_."


	8. Chapter Eight

Days passed uneventfully until her father's return the next Sunday, Coral equal parts dreading and looking forward to seeing him in the house again. It wasn't that she had a _bad_ relationship with him but rather, she didn't have much of one outside of a professional setting. His paranoia and hatred for the others of Four had been born in the wake of Ford's death, and to many it might have been the birth of an impossibly close relationship with his last living child. Instead, he relegated Coral to trusted acquaintance. When they spoke, it was for relaying information about the catch or the trawlers. About the money they needed to earn to retain their home.

Coral would've been insulted by it if she didn't watch her mother deal with the very same thing. There were conversations she was seldom privy to, things whispered in the dead of night. Occasional raised voices and Gillian's subsequent tears. Beyond those, little by way of affection was shared in the Swan household. Coral wasn't sure if it was her own instinct to pull back from her mother, or her mother trying to protect herself from the potential pain of losing another child. It didn't necessarily matter.

The end result was the same.

Coral lived in her loneliness. It was a feeling she'd almost forgotten the past couple years, but these days it rushed forward to make itself known.

It had taken Aveline months to win Coral over. Longer still to win Gillian. Delmar had only ever tolerated the girl. To him, anyone who wasn't a Swan, was a traitor. He didn't say it. There was nothing revolutionary or enflamed within his actions, but it was a kind of silence that he held. Coral had learned to recognise it when she walked through the door. On a day when he was on the water and her mother at the stall, Coral would sometimes head home to a quiet house before needing to work. The house itself welcomed her in its emptiness. The occasional creak of timber swallowing up her footsteps. A rustle of wind through a window. A crackle and groan of the bread oven cooling down from her mother's morning baking. The silence was built around both the present lack of other people and the multitude of signs that at other times, this place was a _home_.

Her mother's silence was warm. It was the hum and rattle of the cooler. The occasional sigh. The break of the _zing_ of blade over whetstone to sharpen it for tomorrows work. Coral liked it. In those moments, she could pretend that it was a home that anyone might have lived in.

With Delmar, the silence was more absolute. It sucked the life out of things. Aveline had said it was the silence of a graveyard or the immediate aftermath of a funeral. When the people have gone but have flooded the grasses and the sea and the sky with their grief. Coral called it the aftermath of Ford. Her brother had been life. Bright and vibrant, quick with a smile or a joke. He had been cheeky. It had earned him more than his share of clatters across the back of his head. After Ford, it felt like her father had taken a deep breath and held it tight. Gathering the oxygen of a room all to himself out of spite. He spoke when only necessary. To his family and other denizens of Four alike. There was no playful chatter. No cheekiness.

It was this silence she walked into on the day he returned, permeating down to the bones of the house. Coral had gone out that morning to try to catch any of the Wyndham's. To express her sorrow and regret. Eos, always the kindest and softest soul, had asked her not to come back anymore. With a bowed head, he'd told her they needed to move on, and she did too. Aveline wasn't coming back and trying to force herself into their lives only made the pain raw.

It had been the gentlest admonishment she'd ever received in her life and yet it still cut her to the quick.

Sighing as she closed the front door shut behind her, Coral could hear her father's presence in the house. Gone was the casual hum while her mother baked bread. The air circulator was off. It made sweat start to bead on her skin almost instantly. Cool air was a luxury that was only afforded as and when her father would spare the funds.

"I'm home." Coral's mother appeared around the doorway, mouth pulling in a half smile.

"Hi darling. Your fathers back. Did you get to speak to the Wyndhams?" Coral chose to shake her head rather than confess the truth. After Aveline had gone and until the games had ended, Gillian had brought down what excesses they had, which weren't many, on Coral's behalf. She'd told Coral during breakfast one day that she'd seen a tesserae box in their disposal while dropping off the last batch. Had heard through gossip in town that Ari was joining the camps shortly.

Coral hated having that knowledge. It deepened her guilt, burying it to the darkest places of her being. Places that couldn't be ignored or compartmentalised. Her mother's face fell. "Oh well, perhaps tomorrow."

"Perhaps."

Moving into the kitchen, her mother pressed over a small piece of paper into her hand and spoke with a low voice. Not that her father had looked up from his immersion in the ledgers he read at the table.

"Someone left that for you."

Confusion tugged at her features before a glimpse of the handwriting within revealed the sender. Mags. It suddenly made sense for the covertness of the action. Delmar had no love for any victors who returned to Four, not least Finnick. It had been what made the boys appearance on her trawler all that more jarring. Coral agreed for the most part with his hatred, but Mags felt like the exception to many rules. She'd funnelled money into Gillian's business for years. Kept Coral busy. _Sure,_ it was demeaning to be cleaning out the old woman's bedsheets and such, but no less so than having to debase themselves at the hands of the Capitol every year for the right to remain in their home. Coral had already carried the brunt of one loss already. Another would be too much, too soon.

"How was your trip?" Coral asked, stuffing the note into her pocket before she turned to give her father her attention. He gave a small grunt, handing her a collection of papers rather than answer. The quotas were met and they'd even managed to add another fifteen percent. By all accounts, that was a fucking triumph of a haul. Leaving them back down once she'd finished, Coral asked if he'd spoken to Tully and got a nod. With little else to discuss, and the silence already pulling at her composure, Coral retreated to her room.

The week on the trawler in communication with her father's boat had been the most she'd heard his voice in almost a year, and even that was only for a daily rundown of how things had been progressing. There were times Coral forgot that Delmar Swan had been a man to laugh with abandon. To crack filthy jokes that made her mother blush and Coral feel like she'd been included in some adult secret.

In her room, Coral flipped open Mags note to find a request to meet the older woman at four that afternoon on the beach. Frowning, half wondering why she had to give up yet another day to that house, Coral opted to close her eyes for a while. Either way, it would be preferable to sitting in the house that overflowed with her father's silence.

* * *

For once, the evening was cool instead of cloying. Coral had a fresh trace of sunburn edging where her shirt sleeves ended from her walk that morning but it would fade quickly enough. Her mother had spread a balm onto her skin before allowed her to slip out of the house again. There were times that her parents confused her. They were hardly more than walking shades of the people they'd once been, lacking in the joy and carefree natures that had existed before Ford's games. Yet somehow, they slipped in moments of _what might have been_.

She'd hidden away such nuggets for years.

The small baked loaf that her mother pressed into her hands as she left for school, enough for a small meal between classes. The shift in her father's silence at the end of their communications on the trawler before he hung up. As if he wanted to say more. It had been Aveline who had pointed out that such things shouldn't have to be desired. They should've just been freely given.

Thinking of her best friend didn't come easier, but a few weeks had gifted her enough clarity to think of the few lessons the other girl had imparted on her. How to act like the children they were. Which way to mix dyes to get the perfect shades of lip stain for her skin tone. How to kiss without smudging said lip stain. That thought was more bladed, robbing Coral of her breath. It had been once. She'd wanted it many times more.

She'd wanted the house on the beach, and a place where Aveline's laughter swelled the place with love and joy and impossibility.

To Coral, there was nothing worse than looking down into the abyss without that lifeline.

Pulling herself together, the girl got back on track to the beach and the specific spot she knew where she'd find Mags. Swimming was seldom a real treat for those of Four, the waters siphoned off for the fishing boats or the lessons given to the fishermen and free divers. One patch of land had been given up for free swimming, to be used only by kids after school, or adults on Sundays.

The beach was devoid of people in the late afternoon heat which made Mags easy to spot. A few days of brightness and escape from the Capitol had turned her hair whiter than ever but if anyone looked hard enough, they'd be able to spot the last few straggling dark hairs. Even then, she still looked like she possessed a bright wild halo atop her head.

Mags stood as she saw Coral, and the girl twitched a tight smile.

"Thanks for coming."

"Sure."

The older woman patted the sand beside her and Coral lowered herself, still curious why Mags would wish to meet her here of all places. At the house they could speak more freely. Without Peacekeepers making patrols along the roads, watching out for any signs. For Mags to speak to her like this would be slower, more difficult for the woman herself. On the list of things to make life easier, this ranked pretty low. Crossing her legs, Coral waited until Mags gathered her thoughts. A small spasm of her hand showed the woman desperately would've preferred to sign.

"Coral," A breath, one which had the girl leaning closer so she could hear properly, "I've really appreciated your working at my house. I know it cannot be easy."

 _That_ was the understatement of the century. Not that Coral ever said it to Mags herself. She was too reliant on the business to dare. Too careful of biting the hand that kept food on her table. The topic was a minefield. Coral blamed Finnick, but Mags had always helped. Her father blamed them both. Back teeth grinding together, the girl tried to pick a middle ground.

"It's easier than the camps." Or the games themselves. Sort of. With the games would come a freedom of her own. Either from the messy entanglements of life itself, or the constant fear of never having enough money to get by.

Mags gave a small chuckle of laughter at the diplomacy.

"I know as much as anyone – that it's very hard to look the people who have hurt you in the eye. Harder still to do so while the wounds are fresh." Coral's arms found her abdomen, wrapped around tight. "If you want to speak about her, I am always here."

Tears sprang to the surface and she looked away. Her grief felt too tangible to be held safely yet. It was a nerve brushed raw, pulsing and constant. Within the memory of Aveline was Ford. The betrayal. The fears. Each component all tangled up together in a melting pot of anguish.

"But you cannot punish Finnick for this one." It was the sharp slap of a switch on her skin, Coral looking up to meet Mags's gaze. What on earth had _Finnick_ to do with this? Even as she thought it, the girl knew that the right answer was _everything._ Tightening her jaw so she wouldn't speak out of turn, Coral instead raised an inquisitive eyebrow. If she was to start throwing accusations, Mags might turn her out.

Forcing herself to try connecting the dots, they lined themselves up rather quickly. Her expression darkened.

Finnick had tattled on her. That stupid entitled _bastard_ had gone home crying to Mags, but for the life of her, Coral couldn't think _why_. He had his own damn house. It wasn't her job to soften the blows of his failures, especially when those failures had led to the death of her best friend.

As if sensing the direction her thoughts had gone, Mags reached out and placed a liver spotted hand over Coral's knee. Squeezed harder than she could've imagined that frail looking hand could. Mags's skin was battered with age. Wrinkled, paper thin skin hid the grip of an eagle. "He tried to help her Coral."

" _Not enough_."

"You don't know what it's like in the Capitol. There's games within games." Fits and starts filled the gaps between the woman's words and still Coral found it impossible to believe. The Captiol was full of buffoons and monsters. To imagine it all as some big game – well – _well_ – it wasn't entirely farfetched. Except Coral couldn't give an inch right now. She couldn't allow for the possibility that Finnick Odair was anything less the wretched boy than she had built him up to being.

"The things we have to do to get sponsor gifts for our kids," Mags sounded wistful, eyes turning themselves out towards the sea, "Finnick wasn't due to train this year but he knew if he took point, Aveline would stand her best chance. She learned to trust him. Someday, you will have to too."

A scoff ripped itself free of her but Mags's hand tightened again. In warning.

"Until you do, I do _not_ give you leave to drive him from my home. _His_ home _._ "

"He _has_ a home." Coral protested, ferocity dying in the wake of the look she was given. "He's got a house on the other side of the village. Why can't he be there more while I'm around?!"

Maybe then, she wouldn't have to replay what Mags had just said. That Finnick had stepped up to honour the promise she'd claimed from him. A promise that hadn't even been verbalised. Writhing snakes flung themselves at the barrier of her skin, trying to bite their way out. Burning her with venom. Coral Swan wanted to owe that boy nothing, and yet somehow, she seemed to owe him a _lot_. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_. Opening her mouth to argue further, Mags was ahead of her and patted her chin shut. Firmly.

"This isn't negotiable."

 _It wasn't negotiable_.

"Would you be so kind as to walk me home?"


	9. Chapter Nine

Coral had seethed the whole walk back to the Victors' Village. Mags, pointedly oblivious, had chattered about the latest catch. About the herbs she'd brought back from the Capitol that she was most excited to try, and the garden she wanted them to plant. Holding a genuine conversation with the woman took time and a lot of energy to pay attention to without having signing to fall back on and so Coral's mind felt well and truly splintered by the time they broached the boundaries of the houses.

"Come in for tea." She didn't want to. Coral wanted to go home and be angry. To fill her father's graveyard silence with quiet rage, simmering and hostile. It was all Finnick's fault. It was all _her_ fault. She'd trusted him. Briefly. In the midst of her fear over losing Aveline. Since then, he'd done nothing but implode her life with uncertainty. Even her position with Mags was now on rocky ground, though it would've been hard to tell that from how casually the woman spoke. Perhaps she was just better at playing the game than Coral was.

"I should -,"

"I insist."

 _Apparently_ , nothing was up for debate with old Flanagan. Coral exhaled sharply and gave a small nod. On the few times that Coral moved with deliberate slowness to the house, she did have to admit the Victors' Village was something to behold. Whitewashed buildings and endless flower gardens. Each house with its own window seat and a view of the sea from the upper floors that far outshone any other place in the entirety of Four. It was just a pity that such homes had to be paid for in _blood_.

Coral released Mags to move ahead and unlock the door, fair brows knitting together as the door swung open before she had time to even insert the key.

"Did you leave the place unlocked?" While break-ins were rare in Four, they _did_ occasionally happen. Victors houses were deemed the most affluent. They also carried the highest risk. Mags, to Coral's knowledge, was quite well liked. With the notable exception of Delmar Swan.

When the woman shook her head, Coral's hackles rose. A sliver of fear trailed its way down her spine and when she looked down the hallway – she saw the stains.

" _Mags_ …" The woman followed her gaze and the immediate change in demeanour near knocked Coral from her feet. Mags tore past her, barrelling through the house with a speed that was baffling.

"Finnick?" Blinking and without any chance to consider why the hell Finnick would be leaving a trail of blood along the white tiled hallway, Coral followed. Whatever she'd expected to find, it certainly wasn't a near naked Odair boy standing in the middle of the kitchen with a large blade to his skin. Mags's cohesive but slow chatter had devolved into little more than a frantic stream of incomprehensible words and _none of it made sense._

The boy looked, well, like a boy. No, he looked _young_. Far younger than their shared seventeen years. A trickle of blood was spiling down his arm where he held the knife at a point. Digging in. Digging _deep_.

"I'm _sorry_ Mags." There was something inhuman in Finnick's voice, something wildly out of place with the picture Coral had of him. Worse still, he reminded her of horses she'd once seen as a child. Frantic eyed, the whites showing too much. Tear tracks lined his cheeks and Coral's eyes flickered once to the blood. Twice. It was dry. Whatever he was trying to do, he'd been here long enough for the first cut to begin to set. "I'm trying but I'm _sorry_."

Instinct made Coral want to turn tail and run. To throw dust in her wake and take the consequences of it later. She didn't have a horse in this race. Not _really_. Finnick was just some annoying, terrible boy. A murderer. He was just a _monster_.

Then _why_ , a niggling and unwelcome part of her brain questioned, does he look so _afraid_?

"I can't – I need to feel human again Mags. I can't wait. _I can't_."

Green eyes darting between the older woman and the teen, Coral was at a loss.

Inserting herself between the two seemed to happen without her own say so, arms and legs moving with unfamiliar steadiness. More surprising was the way her hand reached out to grip his chin. To hold him in place.

"What did they do to you?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard and Finnick swung his gaze from Mags to her, the intensity of the look sending a throb through her chest. Her grip tightened, a far cry from the soft edge she'd asked her question with. Anger was still there. Just beneath the surface. Anger at Finnick. At Mags non-negotiable demands. At her father's silence. At Aveline and Ford and Four and the Capitol.

She fucking _hated_ the Capitol.

It was their fault. _They_ were making her let down her guard. Making her into some soft pliable slip of a girl who dropped her defences at the sight of a crying boy. A crying boy who had the knife she'd spent the day before sharpening pressed to the crook of his arm.

"Finnick," It fell from her lips too easily, too urgent and soft and _desperate_ , "Why are you _doing_ this?"

His chest rose and fell. The knife slipped along his arm, flat of the blade dragging some of the still moist blood after it. "I just want to feel normal again." He sounded broken as pulled back from her and the demands of her grip, the tanned glow of his skin fading down to a pale imitation of itself. "I can't go back – I won't be this _thing_ anymore! I can't – I _can'tIcan'tIcan't."_

"Hey, _hey,"_ Mags' panicked garble had only increased in volume and Coral tried to wave the older woman back. Playing the role of appointed de-escalation expert was about as far from her wheelhouse as being named head peacekeeper. What was even less appealing about it was the prospect of having to deescalate _Finnick._ Worst of all, was the way Mags had run into the house. She'd known. She'd known immediately that blood meant Finnick. Meant _this_. How often had they both lived this crooked cycle? For the first time, Coral found herself asking – _where is his mother_?! "Hey c'mon, you're here in Four. You're safe."

Arms outstretched, Finnick held the blade over his own wrist. Pressed it to the unmarked skin. _Unmarked_. More of the puzzle slipped into place. The smoothness of his arm under her touch. Images and sensations clattered together quick enough to form a rudimentary understanding of what was going on. The Capitol had done something to him. Made him _unblemished_. Even a week back at sea had only restored a fraction of the scars and wear that others claimed in their district. Coral's hands were so much coarser. More damaged.

"Look, give me the knife Finnick. If anyone is going to slit you open let it be me. At least then you know the person holding the weapon will find relief."

His eyes were wild. Unhinged. This was a version of the boy that was kept hidden away. A version that made him more human again.

How the _fuck_ could she call him a monster after this? It only made Coral hate him more. Something in her expression must have shown because she felt the press of the handle to her outstretched palm before she realised what it was.

"Please." His voice broke painfully in the middle of the word and Coral's expression wavered. " _Please_ do it." He had gone to his knees before her, arms spread wide to reveal his unprotected chest.

She saw the reflection of the knife in his eyes and contained within it, she relived his games. Of how he'd come out swinging, knives and spears and anything he could wield. Coral relived them all. The girl who'd died with a spear in her throat before she could finish her battle cry. The boy from twelve whom Finnick had split ear to ear with his knife. She didn't know why she'd retained so much of it. Why it had stuck so solidly in her mind. Maybe because it was the ferocity she'd expected of her brother. Or _perhaps_ -

All of the techniques Finnick had used in the games were movements that were as familiar to Coral as being on the water. Snaring the fish. Butchering it. She'd condemned him for so long that she'd never stopped to think of how easy it would be to become just as monstrous as him if it was her survival on the line. Her judgement of the games was clouded by fear but underneath it, hidden deep, was a vow that she'd use the skills she'd been taught to come home. That she wouldn't be another Ford. Another _Aveline_.

Her fingertips pressed against his forearm where a blade from the male tribute from district one had passed. Instead of the white and puckered scar, Finnick's skin was immaculate. He didn't even have a single acne pimple.

 _This_ was what the Capitol did. They took innocent children and turned them into beasts. After it was over, they washed away the evidence. Burnished it golden and beautiful so people didn't have to look too hard at it. So they could pretend.

Mags had faded into the background noise and all Coral could see was the endless smooth lines of Finnick's body on display. The Capitol squealed their delight at the view but as Coral looked, _really_ looked, she felt disgusted. His body hair was hardly longer than a pale peach fuzz, like what she'd find on an infant. He bore little by way of the usual seafaring rites of passage. No burns from hasty meals on the beach front. No tears in his palms from trying to fit a spearhead. They'd stripped him of all the pieces that made him one of Four. That solidified him as a being that was part of a whole rather than lost at sea. Coral thought of Mags and the crepe paper feel of her skin. Of Cove and the trailing birthmark across her jaw. Things that couldn't be edited out. Air brushed away. Was Finnick the only one who was taken apart and remade each time around? Did he have to do this each time because the alternative was to stare at the reminders of his emptiness? The perfection that marked him out as _other_.

His eyes were damp. Glittering. _Pained._

Coral _hated_ that it elicited anything other than hatred within her. Hated that this terrible boy was maybe not as terrible as she'd painted him to be. That under the masks and the flirting and the _endless_ fucking optimism, he was just as damaged and broken as she was.

She knelt.

Without any fanfare, Coral dragged the blade across his forearm and watched the blood well in the wound. She repeated the action on his chest beneath his ribs. Across his left bicep. Down the side of his thigh.

Each wound was shallow and likely to heal without more than a small bandage, but the blade was sharp enough that when the skin knitted it would mark him with white. New skin. New wounds. Old pains.

Finnick gave a sigh. Tension flowed outward from him. The tears began to flow more freely and he morphed before her eyes again. Wild animal to wailing child.

Was this what it would have come to if Ford had survived? If Aveline had? Cutting them apart just to help them feel _whole_.

"Now you look like a person again." She bowed his weeping head into her lap so she didn't need to look at his face, but he clutched at her shirt. Soaked her shorts. Crying like this, it was hard to hear it. To face it. It was the sobbing that widows did at funerals. That mothers did for their too soon deceased sons. Finnick wept as though he'd lost parts of himself that he'd never get back and for the first time in four years, Coral didn't hate Finnick Odair. She didn't hate him at all.

"Thank you." He whispered it repeatedly as Mags reappeared with a soft blanket to prop over his bared body. The old woman dropped a soft hand on Coral's head, a mirror to the tentative palm she held against Finnick's hair. Coral tried to say something more. To tell the boy in her lap to pull himself together so she could go home. The words refused to come. They didn't come when Finnick's breathing levelled out and his body went limp. They didn't come when Mags made signs to say that she'd take over, carry the burden. Coral fell asleep with her back to a kitchen chair and Finnick Odair curled tight against her legs.

A frightened boy and a cautious girl.


	10. Chapter Ten

Coral woke with an ache in her neck. She'd slept most of the night in fits and starts, Finnick's warmth curled into her lap and his arms looped around her waist. At some point, she'd ended up with her head across his back, but now all that was there was the soft part of her forearm. Her clothes were dirtied and bloody, back stiff. Hearing voices, she threw off the small blanket that had been covering her.

Rising, Coral stretched out her limbs and padded her way down the hall to where the voices were coming from. A glance up towards the old clock on the landing told her she'd missed the set off for today's fishing. Her father would be furious, but then - maybe him yelling at her while sober would be a new and exciting kind of experience. Somehow, she doubted it. Scrubbing at her face, the girl ran a hand through her tangled hair and winced. Sleeping on the floor without dinner had made her just the wrong shade of irritated. Not exactly the mood anyone wanted to wake up in.

Mags and Finnick were in the living room, perched either side of the heavy wooden dining table. A series of instruments were laid out, mostly bandages and the boy himself was covered in more than one swath of white linen.

"The wound near his elbow needs stitches." Both of them looked up at once, Finnick's expression sheepish and Mags' guarded. In her hand was a glass of something that smelled like alcohol, the woman trying to root out the small needle she'd been sterilising within.

"Did I wake you?" Coral shook her head, though she knew it was a lie. Finnick himself hadn't woken her, but the _absence_ of him had. For all the restlessness she'd felt while perched against the chair, the most comforting part of it had been the body heat she'd leached from him. Admitting to that was too much for her to bear, and so she chose to lock it away instead. She couldn't give him another thing. Not today.

"Do you need me to do that?" Coral asked while signing out that she had questions. Mags hesitated and then handed over the glass.

"You've got steadier hands. I'll make some tea." Coral's stomach grumbled. "And breakfast." As the woman left the room, she flicked on the radio. What filtered through was one of the local channels, a station that shared only the fishing updates and highlights from the Capitol. Music and entertainment, on the scale involved in broadcasting, were for those that didn't live in the districts. A shame really, given the beautiful songs Coral had learned and sung while sailing over the years. Extracting out the needle, she threaded it carefully with the medical thread from Mags's first aid kit. Another indication that the events of the night before hadn't been in isolation.

The sounds of movement in the kitchen blended into the radio outputs and Coral drew Finnick's arm to her so she could better see the first wound. It had been cleaned but the skin was puckered and raw. Hardly a neat cut. For a citizen from Four, he ought to have done better.

"Mags sent Medea's eldest kid down to let your parents know you needed to stay here last night. After her bad fall." There was a silent question in his statement. A nervous query. An _alibi_. All of which depended on her. Would she share the truth with her parents when given the chance?

Coral still didn't know the answer to that.

"What did they do to you?" Voice low, Coral began the first stitch with a deft hand. He'd most certainly gain a jagged scar but, somehow, she suspected that was what Finnick wanted.

"They're called redo centres." Though it had to have hurt, he didn't flinch when she passed the needle through his skin. Drew it tight together. "Tributes go there after the games. To heal their wounds, make sure they're primped and preened for showtime."

Coral thought back to previous Games and how quickly the recap sessions occurred despite the often-mortal wounds inflicted on the winners in their final moments. Her mouth thinned.

"Mags has scars. Marks on her skin." It wasn't so much a question as a statement. A means to try to figure out how angry she needed to be.

"Mags isn't desired by the general population." Bitterness flooded Finnick's voice, "And I can't look fourteen forever. As much as they do their best to maintain that illusion."

He hissed as her hand slipped. Jabbed the needle into the meaty part of his bicep. She didn't apologise, but her thumb traced the little red mark she'd left behind. A gesture as soft as a kiss. There were parts of her mind warring with each other. Over how foolish it was to sit here and talk so honestly of such things. Of what it meant that her first instinct today was _pity_ instead of righteous fury. She wanted to go back. To before she'd taken on this stupid job. To the day of the reaping so she could silence Aveline before she could step forward. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so conflicted. So _confused_.

"To sponsor her, what did they take?" It was dangerous. To dare ask anything like this when they knew their homes were bugged. No one could be sure when it started, but too much had happened over the years for it to be a coincidence. Families pulled from their beds in the middle of the night for treason, or embezzlement or any fucking thing at all. For things that hadn't been shared beyond their own kitchen table. People rising the ranks without any discernible income, skin pale from long hours working indoors at jobs they never spoke about.

The radio formed a cover, the signing was most effective but _still_ , the people of Four suffered. Got caught. Turned on their own at the drop of a pin. It only deepened Coral's conflict. Did she feel sympathy for the same people who had hung her brother out to dry, or did she hate them all with uniformity? It seemed to come so easy to her father. It _would've_ been easy for her without Aveline.

She knew all the risks and yet she still had to know. Mags had told her not to punish Finnick for Aveline's death, but to do that she had to know that he'd tried. Problem was, there was a jarring contrast between knowing he'd sweet-talked people and hearing the implication in his voice. Anyone with sense could say he was handsome. Striking even. Freckles on the bridge of his nose. Hazel eyes that strayed more towards green in the right light. Beach waved hair with hints of blonde. A strong jaw and lips right off of a bust. Coral had hated him for years and even _she_ had seen that.

The Capitol's poster boy.

What Coral hadn't factored into consideration was that it was the type of handsome someone might prey on. That it was the face people would go to exceptional lengths to hide acne and scars from, to remove hair from so that he'd stay ever young. Just like he had at fourteen.

The radio was filling the silence between them, Coral tying off the last of the stitches. Finnick hadn't moved in a long stretch, his skin was ashen and pale. When she attempted to retreat, his hand moved quick as a flash and pinned her in place.

"As much as I could offer." Coral's stomach bottomed out.

"Like?" She couldn't say it. Couldn't _ask_ it.

"Innocent things. Kisses. Some not so innocent. _Touches_. Secrets." He laughed without humour. "The things some people will do to know what their neighbour thinks of them."

 _Touches_.

She was going to throw up. He hadn't said sex but that didn't matter. Anything that cost the price of someone's body, no matter how desperately she wanted it, it wasn't worth it. If Aveline had lived past that second day - _how far would he have gone_?!

Alarm flooded through her, breathing erratic and tight. Coral had _seen_ horrors. She'd watched her own brother die on a national broadcast. Had seen children ripped open from the inside. She'd watched a wraith replace her once jovial father, and when the liquor set in - saw a demon take his place. Somehow it paled in comparison to knowing Finnick had traded his own desirability for _her_ request.

" _Why?"_

"Because it's the only weapon I have now."

She'd demanded everything of him for Aveline's life without knowing the cost. Without _weighing_ the cost. The hunger that had made her stomach cry out only minutes earlier was all but gone, replaced with the desire to be sick. Her hand reached for the table, for balance, and missed. Her weight tumbled and Coral couldn't catch her breath. Couldn't find the oxygen. The sickness she'd felt on the boat after being underwater so long paled in comparison. At least there she could've opened her mouth and just – _floated away_.

On land, she was dead weight.

On land, _she_ was the one who had asked this of him. All to find a victory for the person she'd loved most in the world. Another thought struck her, solid and heavy. A curled fist would've smarted less.

"If she'd won –" She thought of Aveline's dark skin against her own, the midnight to her morning. The shimmer of a highlighter on her cheeks. Bright red lips. Aveline had been the most beautiful person Coral had ever met. The fantasy she'd entertained of Aveline's victory was drying up too fast. The homecoming and tentative nursing back to normality. Their small house on the beach. Long easy mornings as they basked in each other. Those might have happened but Coral, _Coral_ would've only been a noose around her neck. People who craved youth and beauty and charm, the people who sanded down the signs of life on Finnick's skin – they would've taken Aveline too. Even on her best days, Coral wasn't a person inclined to _share_. In what world would she have been okay with Aveline trading her body for anyone? Even a kid who might die otherwise.

"Not everyone ends up like me." Finnick offered, fingertips reaching out to brush away the moisture on her face. Coral hadn't even heard him move. He was crouched before her. Reaching to draw her into his arms and she _hated him_. She hated him. She hated that he'd done what she'd asked at such cost. That it had all been in vain. Coral hated most that even if they'd both sacrificed everything for Aveline Wyndham, they'd have likely lost her anyways. This time when she sobbed, she didn't push him away. It was reciprocal. After this, they'd be even. He'd cried into her arms. Now she cried in his.

She couldn't apologise. There weren't words strong enough to actually make a dent in what she'd asked of him. So she cried until her throat was raw and the pain was dulled and she hoped that he understood. That he sensed the shift.

Indignation gave way to sorrow.

Anger gave way to pity.

Hatred – well, that would give way too in time. Only not for the Capitol. Not for Snow. _They_ deserved every wretched thing they had coming.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Routines could be fickle creatures. They required daily tending to grow and thrive, a constant need for attention. The idea was that when grown, they could last a lifetime. Coral had watched routines rise and fall over the years, from life before and after Ford. From the life before and after Aveline. None had settled in quite as fast as the one she lived day to day after the night of Finnick and his knife. It was too easy. It made her wary and guarded and yet she found herself going back each day for more regardless.

Some things stayed the same. Fishing. Classes. Mags. Cleaning a home occupied by two people on a day to day basis was something that actually required little of her time. Two good hours and some elbow grease and the vast majority of the work was done. The meals she offered could be prepared in advance when there was an actual working system to store excess food. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, Coral gained the true experience of _free time_. In the beginning, Mags filled it with the herb garden and teaching her to craft splendid fishhooks which were traded off to Finnick for his small excursions. After the Games, the Victors chose skills as a means to occupy their sudden wealth of time and energy. Mags had funnelled hers into weaving. Finnick had chosen fishing. It had seemed a strange decision to Coral, at least until she'd learned that he could spend hours of a day in a little boat of his own. Away from Four. Beyond the grasp of peacekeeper and fanatic fan alike. Things Finnick craved more than he'd ever dare vocalise.

That she knew any of that was surprising because to Coral, it signified that a change had come to the antagonistic relationship between them. Now, she looked at him with annoyance over rage. They weren't friends. He was far too free with his charm and cockiness for that. No, she _tolerated_ him. Learned to accept his presence in Mags' home, which happened to be quite a large part of the time. Every day in fact.

Somehow, she muddled through.

Saturdays were her favourite. Days that had once been riddled with fish guts and nicked fingers now held recipes. The catches Finnick made were stored and prepped by the boy himself, leaving Coral to focus on the combinations of flavours. Of taking Mako's instructions and the books Mags brought back from the Capitol and turning them into something more. For a long time, Coral had convinced herself she liked cooking as a necessity. A means to an end. _Now_ , she found she was enraptured by the process. The way steaming or salting or frying or baking could offer subtle differences in the outcome of their food. With Mags budgeting the shopping, there was no limit on fresh produce. With Finnick aiding their market visits, there was always an extra addition in the bag. It was baffling how willing people were to reward him for the glimpse of a smile or the hint of a secret shared.

Once or twice she'd debated asking him to stop. To preserve whatever piece of himself that he could but then he'd give her a glance and the mask would slip. He'd let a smile past that wasn't filled with implication or desire - just _happiness_ \- and Coral didn't have the heart to bring that piece crashing down too.

Guilt was a fresh feeling. Naturally, she was attuned to the ebbs and flows of such emotion when it came to her family. When it came to Aveline. To feel it rise and fall with the twitch of Finnick Odair's smile was wholly strange. She felt it when he helped around Mags house in nothing but a pair of shorts, bandages giving way to white scars. She felt it when she traced the small piece of silver coral that had been passed onto her mother by the Wyndham's. They could've sold it. Burned it. Instead, they'd made sure it found its way into her hands. Eos would've meant it in good faith. As comfort. Ari, however, would've known how it would be received. A constant reminder of Coral's failure. Of the sacrifice made for her.

Too many people making sacrifices for _her_.

By all accounts, it didn't make sense. Even when Ford had been alive, _she_ had been the problem child. The annoyance. Getting under feet, winding up her classmates. Quick to anger and quicker still to hold a grudge. That Aveline had befriended her at all had been a shock, not least because back then she had been in the most volatile stage of grief. Not a day passed between thirteen and fifteen that she hadn't been in a fight. That she'd not bloodied or bruised another kid simply for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Now she was reliving that confusion. She'd lashed out at him for years and Finnick decided to keep coming back. To make promises. To trade away pieces of himself for _her_ peace of mind. No part of that made logical sense.

What made less sense was the evenings where she didn't have to be home. When Mags would find an old book she'd brought back from the Capitol to read from. Most were wretched history tomes full of propaganda and lies, and while she spoke the words aloud, she'd correct the narrative by signing. Telling the truth of the stories as she knew them.

Coral would settle in the old window seat, listening and watching Mags speak. Scratching down the real stories little by little in the ways she could. Through shorthand. In the margins of other less important novels. Ways and means to keep the world from devolving into a cold and empty madness. For Coral, it imbued a sense of rebellion. Of control.

Finnick was the wild card on such days. Occasionally he'd be away on his boat, but occasionally, he would be in the house tucked like a child against her feet. Nodding off with his head pressed to her shins. Often, he'd sleep for an hour. Maybe two. More than once he'd weaved a hand between her calves and clung tight.

She learned more about the boy in his sleep than she did while awake. He snored. Often. Always quiet little sounds that echoed with consistency. He tied knots without thinking. There were times he'd hold a rope and nod off while his hands were mid-work. Work that would continue as he dozed, his eyelashes fluttering and fingers deftly pulling rope into intricate knots until eventually he slipped into dreams.

His nails were always broken. Part of it was from toiling on the boat during her school hours, and parts of it were the fact that he chewed at their edges when he was feeling especially stressed. Sometimes he left faint scratches along her skin while he slept, during the moments when he was caught in some nameless dream and reaching for relief.

There were times he spoke in his sleep. Sang. It was faint. As if she were listening from a faraway room rather than right next to him. During those moments Mags would slowly raise her voice. Masking the noises enough that it didn't matter if he slipped up. Said more than he ought to. More than once Coral had caught herself sweeping hair from his eyes, watching the frantic flutter of his lashes. Strangest of all was when she'd reach for him, a hand pressed to his forehead to quieten the anxiety in his dreams only to find that it _worked_.

More than once, with his body weighted against her legs and fingers tangled in his hair, she'd let his deep slow breathing lull her to sleep.

Each new day made the process a little easier to swallow. A little less jarring.

Some days, it even made her believe that there was more comfort to be found in Mags's place than there was in her own home. Today was one such day, Coral lingering far longer than she ought to have. Offering Finnick a few snippets of her thoughts on the walk home, a task he had decided was now required no matter how much she protested it. He was chattering about trying to catch more flatfish so she could try out the herbs she'd planted in Mags' garden, the girl giving an odd input where necessary. Her mind was heavily occupied and she barely felt the change of smooth cobbles to packed earth underfoot.

Coral glanced at the buildings, a realisation drawing her to a stop. Finnick strode right into her back, stumbling and using her shoulders to balance himself.

"What's wrong?" Looking over her shoulder at him, she started to laugh. Concern bloomed through his features and Coral had to wave it off.

"I don't - it's just…" She was being ridiculous really. That much was quite evident. Less than a month ago, the mere sight of him was enough to incite a blind rage. She'd been righteous in that anger, devoted to it. Now what she felt was confusion. A constant low-lying headache that made itself known from the second she woke in the morning to the point she finally fell asleep at night.

When the person you'd blamed for all the wrongs in your world suddenly proved to be as broken and twisted as you were, where did all that blame go?

She couldn't internalise it. Not any more than what she already had. Coral was always angry with herself. Always doubtful and guilty and pained. Adding the weight of what she'd directed towards Finnick would've just let her finally have an excuse to drown her sorrows in pills or booze or something else in between. She was too stubborn for that. Most days, she wanted to _live_ too much for that. In the hope that someday, _one day_ , it got better. That things changed. Things already _were_ changing.

Except not in the way she'd thought.

Except she'd never factored in Finnick.

Except the more that she let herself _tolerate_ the boy, the more confused she got.

It was almost impossible to even explain it. _So_ , Coral found the humour, and the familiar buildings that surrounded them - and laughed.

"This," She pointed to the ground and the whitewashed homes that surrounded them, one with a vibrantly painted blue door, "Is where you told me I'd cut people raw."

Finnick looked immediately uncomfortable, a hand reaching for the back of his head. His mouth opened and shut while he sought an answer and Coral shook her head at him. Stopped him before he began to offer more sacrifices she couldn't bear to carry. She didn't want explanations. Or apologies.

"You were right. I mean, not about it being the pieces of me to do it but I did." An expansive gesture of her hand found the scar she could see across his arm, the skin puckered and white in the middle. "I cut you."

Finnick looked like he might crumble. His face was too emotive. Too pained. Coral hadn't been seeking a nerve. What struck her was the irony. She'd picked up the blade for _his_ benefit above all else. There'd been none of the relief she'd hoped to find in separating his skin. In making him bleed.

There was a pressure, unwelcome, in her head. The feeling of mounting violence in the air that accompanied a new storm. Drawing darkness across the skies and lightning over the sea. Except when she turned her head up the sky was clear. Dark, yes - but they could see the stars for miles. Down to the water and beyond.

She felt Finnick's hand on her shoulder before she saw it coming. His nails embedded themselves in her skin as if drawing her back together through the pain. It cleared the fog in her brain enough for her to see him hunch. To bring his head close to hers and press forehead to forehead.

This was a different kind of pressure. Pointed and firm. His weight and the warmth of his skin seeping into her own. As he held her in place. Not that she would flee this time. Without her anger, without it driving her - Coral had nowhere else to go. No friends. Barely her own parents.

She had Mags and the stories. With those, came Finnick. With those, she had to tolerate him. To live with him.

Because that was what she was doing.

_Right?_

His breath was warm on her face and Coral's eyes flickered shut. There were other people about. People who faded into little more than echoed footsteps and quiet whispers. In an hour, once curfew set in, the streets would be engulfed in silence. Somehow; she knew it wouldn't be near as effective as the silence she experienced right then and there. A silence that spoke of the earth and the sea. Of a moon pulling tides simply because that was what it was supposed to do.

"I'm still not afraid of you."

Her eyes snapped open to see his expression. Earnest and soft. The pressure sank into her stomach, ruining the dinner she'd made for them that evening. Making her want to throw up. To give in.

"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

Because she didn't _deserve_ another sacrifice, even if it happened to be his sanity. Even if she wanted to see him burn, or at the very least _smoulder_. She didn't deserve generosity or kindness. She deserved spite and their rage in retaliation for all of the antagonism she'd thrown outwards since Ford had died. Been _murdered_.

For the fights she'd started and the tears she'd caused.

Coral pulled back from Finnick. Away from the warmth of his breath and the salt and leather scent that lingered on his skin. She didn't want his secret smiles. To know what lived beneath his mask. She didn't deserve it. She didn't need it. She'd been fine on her own once. She'd be fine on her own again.

Turning away, Coral hastily wiped her eyes and said, "You can leave me here. It's close

enough." Without waiting for an answer, she began to walk. Then run. Then _flee_. Even when she was trying to stand strong, running was the easiest answer. The solution.

The house was eerie on her return; Coral slipped in the door unnoticed and slid it shut with a click. Gathering herself together, it took her a long moment to realise something was amiss. Usually, she'd hear the air circulator or her parents' voices but instead, it seemed like she was home alone. At least until she moved into the dark kitchen and heard a hushed conversation from the yard.

They didn't have much of a garden, it was a scrap of too dry grass in summer and a mess of mud when the rain eventually landed in winter. For the most part, it was used to hang out their washing. Coral reached for the switch to turn on the light and tell her parents she was home when the urgency of her mother's voice stalled her.

"What do you want me to do Del? I can't stop her."

"Bullshit. You had every opportunity!" Her father's voice was angry. Coral glanced to the table and saw an empty bottle of spirits. _Fuck_.

Tempted to retreat, Coral hesitated. She wasn't certain why but it felt almost like she was the topic of discussion. Rampant curiosity stayed her hand. Kept her feet firmly on the same spot so that she wouldn't cause the floor to creak and reveal her presence.

"And you didn't?! If you didn't push her away so much, she might have actually wanted to work the boats with you. Instead, she's being paid more than we could ever scrape together and she _enjoys it._ Do you want to take that away from her?"

Delmar dropped his voice and Coral had to lean forward to catch his answer. "-I don't trust them, Gillian!"

"You don't trust anyone. Not even your own daughter. You think she can't tell that?"

"What's the alternative? Tell her the truth?" A laugh, bitter and sharp. Her hands caught the sink in a solid grip for balance, Coral all but pressed to the wall beside the window. One leg arched off the floor, a ballerina in flight. The wide range of volumes forced her to strain. To hold her breath.

"-prepare herself!"

"For what? Another reaping? She's better off not knowing!"

"So you want to keep her blind? You and I both know there won't be another Aveline Wyndham to jump in and protect her. She _needs_ those two on her side if it happens again!"

"That girl had no business getting involved in our affairs. She _hurt_ Coral by what she did. We're better off keeping distance. From all of them. You know that as well as I do. I _told_ you to squash that relationship from the start so it didn't come to this so _I won't carry the guilt of your failure_!"

"No," Her mother's voice was dangerously edged in a way that Coral couldn't recall hearing before, "You're exceptionally good at that aren't you?"

More frantic murmuring, the sound drowned out by the pulse of rapid blood in her ears. Coral missed the low answer from Delmar. Her knuckles had turned white. What the fresh hell was all this about? She couldn't remember hearing an argument like this between her parents, though maybe that was the point. Maybe they'd kept this from her as effectively as she'd been hiding her own quiet implosion.

"They'll fill her head with lies! She's even walking about town with the Odair bastard as if they're friends now?!" A huffed breath. "It's not fucking right."

"You can't _win_ this way Del. You've kept her ignorant because you thought it would protect her, but she _needs_ to know. To make her own choices in who to trust."

"She shouldn't trust any of them! They're all petty and vindictive _monsters_." Delmar had begun to shout and Coral instinctively retreated from the noise. For a time after Ford, she'd found herself wishing for a break in the graveyard silence, but that too came at a price. It was found at the bottom of a bottle during the offseason when her father gained enough liquid courage to facilitate the transition of quiet rage into outright violence. Never at Coral. Never at her mother. He destroyed people with words. Tore apart the things they could afford to repair. It was a wave of calculated cold anger; one she could never understand. Her own temper was violent but direct. When she struck out, it was in the direction she thought best to attack. A sword to the chest. Delmar's anger was an explosion of shattered glass. It didn't matter who got hit in the process.

Heart erratic and head sore, Coral retraced her steps back towards the hall. Slammed a hand into the light switch. Called out as if her parents were in their room rather than outside.

"I'm home, just going to get to bed since I already ate. Love you." Rapping on the bedroom door of her parents for good measure, to cover her tracks, Coral escaped to her room. Allowed panic to take root.

Amidst the confusion and the anger, something else had taken root between her own parents and she'd missed it. All of it. It was a mystery she wasn't entirely convinced she wished to solve.


	12. Chapter Twelve

"You've been quiet lately."

Coral jumped at Mags' voice, shifting just enough for the gravel beneath her to move into a less comfortable position. Fingers groping blindly beneath her thigh, she found the most offensive shard of stone and tossed it away from her. A pile of half tended to weeds were dumped in a bucket beside her and Mags unceremoniously flipped the thing upside down so that she could sit down.

"Are you checking up on me?" There was a touch of accusation in her words, enough that the older woman laughed.

"Is that not allowed?"

Coral opened her mouth to say no. Closed it again. Pulling the heavy gloves from her hands, she placed them against one another, palm to palm.

"I just don't understand why you care." It had been plaguing her thoughts for weeks. Not just the endurance of Finnick in approaching her since he had won the games, but in continuing to do so after Aveline had died. Mags too had come back after Ford and been a staple in the lives of the Swans. Even as they had tried to dissuade her.

The world she'd been told about, the world she'd been living in – people didn't _do_ that. Loyalty was bought with money and infamy. Without those things, it just didn't exist. It was the lesson her father had tried to drill into her since Ford's games; For a long time, it had worked. She'd been so angry that she clung to any explanation at all. Grasping at a sliver of logic in a world of chaos.

Except when such views were held up to the light, they were full of holes. Coral had had nothing to offer Aveline except a headache and _still,_ she'd kept coming back. She'd greeted Mags for years with sullen agreements, politeness born out of necessity until suddenly it _wasn't_. Finnick, _Finnick_ , made the least sense of all. She'd done nothing but fling caustic accusations at him, _cut him_ and yet somehow, they had settled into a quiet calm that she was almost loath to give up.

Coral angled herself so she could see Mags better. There were people in Four that claimed the old woman was too far gone to be completely understood anymore, but they were the impatient ones. Too stubborn to sit and listen in all the ways they ought to. Mags could communicate as effectively as anyone else given the opportunity. Naturally, she excelled more with the signing. It didn't require her to try to think through the formation of each word and sentence before working them past her lips. Coral had grown so used to the fits and starts in conversation that she barely even heard them anymore.

It was strange, she thought, to know this woman so much more than her own parents. Either of them. Coral had spent seventeen years of her life under the roof with Gillian and Delmar Swan, and now, she could hardly think of a single defining positive feature for either of them. One, at least, that wasn't their job or work ethic. Since Ford, they focused on the books, on their income. It was the very thing that kept Coral alive all these years, but it had come at a high cost. Gone were the days of night-time stories and her mother's old sewing projects. Swimming at the weekends. It had been Aveline's presence that had kept her sane for so long, and now, that mantle fell to Mags.

With the fading antipathy towards Finnick and other victors, Coral was finding it harder and harder to reconcile the hatred that had burned hot and fast within her chest.

Trouble was, she didn't know what she was without that fire.

Cooking helped, but even with Mags' budget, there was only so much she could do without taking advantage. It also felt gratuitous. People were starving all across Four, across _Panem_ , and Coral was supposed to just start blowing through food like she was on some kind of mission? Not a hope.

"Why do you not want me to care?" Eyes flicking upwards, Coral opened her mouth to protest. To say that it wasn't true. Except –

"Ford was the better one. For making my parents smile. Quicker with jokes and being social." Coral, _Coral_ , had picked fights. Even before her brother died. For a long time, she had convinced herself it had just been after, but with more time – more space – she had come to the very realisation that was hitting her now. She'd been a wretched child, full of malice and spite. Dangling spiders over other kids. Quick to tear down anyone else who dared challenge her. A girl made up of knives seeking to slip through the armour of every person she met. As far as Coral knew, she'd only become more tolerable after Ford because she'd isolated herself. "If people couldn't care about him in _there_ , then why should they give a fuck about me? Why should _you_?" Her parents didn't. Not in all the ways that truly mattered. Sure, they kept her fed, watered and sheltered - but for as long as she remembered - Coral had been just as involved in keeping food on the table.

For years it had been an accepted fact because she didn't know any different. All the kids in Four had chores. All the kids in Four struggled. Except that wasn't true. The more time she'd spent in the Village, the more time it pulled her out of her own home and allowed her to actually integrate with the others of Subdivision A – the more she _saw_. Until the last couple weeks, Coral had kept her blinkers on. She woke, went to the boats, to school, to home. Walking to Mags' had opened her up to recognising that there were parents who made sure their kids were nothing but happy between reaping's.

Mags sat silent as Coral pulled at the weeds between her feet, yanking them out from the roots. When she'd been angry, it had been easy to ignore these things. There'd been Aveline to remind her that there were still bright aspects to her world. Still redeeming features. Hating Finnick and Four, that had sustained her directly after.

Without Aveline, without quiet indignant fury - life was nothing more than a slow descent into her own self-loathing.

"Ford wasn't perfect Coral."

She spun on Mags to see the woman with hands raised, already prepared for an attack.

" _None_ of us are. Pushing yourself to the brink just to make your parents happy might give you control but it won't fill the gaps." She choked on her indignation, knowing that it was true but also that it _stung_. Working at Mags' the past few weeks had shown that she could gain things like time to sleep, to rest, to _learn_ and nothing at home would change. Her parents still treated her the same. The morning after Finnick when she had missed boat duties, her father hadn't even _noticed_. Tully might have covered for her, but that – _that was worse_. Tully had given more of a rat's ass about her whereabouts than her father had. Adding insult to injury was the conversation she'd overheard amid Delmar's drinking. Both of them were keeping secrets from her. Something _big_.

In just a few short weeks, her world had become splintered glass. Each edge as sharp as the next one. Each designed to make her bleed. Inhaling was painful. Exhaling was worse.

Burying her head between her knees, Coral dug her hands into her hair. Clutched at clumps of it hard enough to make her eyes water. Each new day, each new discovery, was a bladed _snick snick snick_ at the seams of her sanity.

"I just don't understand why anyone would want to help me. I don't know why anyone would even try to _trust_ me."

A two-fingered tap was levelled at her knees. Coral looked up to see Mags' signing.

"After my games, I thought I was invincible." Mags paused, waiting for some kind of response. Blinking back tears, she gave a small nod to show she was listening. That she was watching. "I came back and it was the first year of the Village. I took my family to this house on the hill, made sure we all had enough to eat. I waited for someone else to join me. Ten years. Twenty boys and girls with hope in their eyes and no chance against the others. We're fishermen at heart. Sure, we survive on water. We can capture and gut even the slipperiest of foes but that means _nothing_ when it comes to doing that to other children. Then you factor in the divers and the factory workers and you know as well as I do that, we never stood a chance."

"So, I formed a plan. A genius one I thought. If Districts One and Two could make careers, _why not us?_ " Coral's breath hitched in her throat. The fucking _camps_. "My idea was training systems in schools. Standardisation across all of Four to ensure every single child would know how to wield a trident. A dagger. It ran once the way I'd hoped, for the twenty-seventh. It took a year for it to be completely bastardised by the Capitol. The uprising around the thirty-fifth didn't help matters. In fact, it meant more people were starving. More people were willing to sign their children up to just put food on the table."

Another shard was embedding itself between her ribs, sharp and bloodied. Her father had crowed about not trusting a single winning tribute from Four and here was his proof. He was old enough to remember the installation of any camps. He'd have been right in the middle of his reaping's when it'd have happened if her math was right. Delmar had never said if he'd been a camp participant or not. He didn't speak about his childhood. There had, however, been aunts and uncles. People who might have been. None that she knew. None that, she suspected, were alive.

"I'm not telling you these things to destroy our trust Coral, I'm telling you that a system like this makes it _impossible_ to be a good person no matter how much you try." Mags' hand found her knee again. Squeezed. "It's okay to need time to figure out _how_ to try. That's all I've done. With your brother, even when it was said -"

The abrupt cut off of Mags' words made her brow furrow.

" _Even when it was said?"_ She repeated it but received only a shake of a head in response.

"I misspoke. I meant that I tried to help every tribute including your brother and that I try to help those left behind here - where I can – even when the Capitol makes it difficult to. If people can trust me after that, then they certainly can trust _you_."

There was a glint behind Mags' eyes that made Coral doubt her. For the first time, she wondered if this woman had been lying to her too. Only, try as she might, Coral couldn't even begin to think what she was being lied to _about_. Moving her head until her chin rested against the old woman's hand, Coral chose to let it go for now. Mags was offering trust. Not fallacies. Why else tell her the truth of the camps? It was the perfect excuse for Coral to tuck tail and run. Yet, somehow knowing that Mags had done something entirely awful with good intentions made her trust the woman all the more. It made little sense, but then, what _did_ these days?

Resting her chin back against her arms, Coral wasn't quite sure what else there was to say. So instead she picked at a different thread, one that had been unveiling itself over the last couple weeks.

"Finnick lives here, doesn't he?" Truthfully, she should've noticed it sooner. The ease with which he swanned through the house half-dressed. How he could locate items faster than Mags herself could. It was in cleaning one of the supposed guest rooms on the second floor that she'd found her proof, a rattle of a knob on the chest of drawers suggesting that a screw was loose and thus prompting her to open it and see. Inside had been a few odds and ends, most of it comprised of fishhooks and rope twined into knots. The very same rope she'd watched him twist and curl on an endless loop during the nights he rested himself against her shins. Finnick was never far from that rope.

Mags' mouth opened, then shut. She gave a sigh.

"Yes."

" _Why_?" She asked incredulously. As far as Coral could tell there was an equally lovely house right across the green that'd have only been filled with a family of eight. Sure, Finnick got free meals and the like with Mags, but he'd have gotten those with his own mother. Not to mention, internally, it was hardly going to be all that different inside compared to Mags' place. It couldn't be a dislike of internal architecture.

As quick as the thought struck her, Coral's brain decided to finally snap puzzle pieces into place.

"Mags, where's Finnick's mom?"

For weeks now Coral had been visiting the Victors Village and its inhabitants. She knew each of the three kids, knew Medea and Cove's partners by sight and sound. Not enough to suggest friendliness, but she was certainly better equipped to pick out their silhouettes and answer when they called their hellos. Except for Finnick, she'd yet to see a single glimpse of another person in his house.

The knowledge rising in her made her furious again. Another fucking _shard_. This one was more confusing than the last.

"My mother doesn't like it up here." Both Coral and Mags flinched, neither of them having heard Finnick come around the corner into the back yard of the house.

His expression wasn't angry. It wasn't much of anything. Coral disliked this part of the boy most because no one became that guarded without building some solid walls in the process. She recognised it because she'd lived it. It was the face beneath his masks. The truth of Finnick. His resting expression, when he didn't have to woo or persuade others into loving him, was a blank slate. A piece of unfired clay that could be taken down and rebuilt until it found the perfect form.

When the walls dropped on occasion, there was a flash of something real. Buried deep. A faint smile. Soft and childlike. Vulnerable. Coral, despite all her misgivings, knew without a doubt that it was an expression she'd have done her best to protect. That kind of innocence deserved someone to fight for it.

"Wh-," She was about to ask the same thing before reconsidering and Finnick ambled across the yard to fold his legs beneath him. He dropped the basket he was carrying into the grass with gentleness, flicking back the covering briefly to reveal the fresh fruit it held inside. Mags made a noise of contentment and reached to grab a peach, brushing it off with her fingertips before taking a bite. Finnick cleared his throat and Coral looked back to him.

"She's one of those people that doesn't like to run from grief. Most of us find the first point on the horizon and chase it until we're ready to come back and face it. Mom – she dresses herself up in it. It's her life raft." Coral knew Finnick's father was dead. She'd never really bothered to try understanding the circumstances of it but it was easy to tell that the wound was raw. Finnick's bottom lip tucked itself beneath his teeth and Mags reached forward to pat his knee. The touch was so intimate it made her want to recoil. Coral couldn't remember the last time her own mother or father had offered comfort so easily. There were times she suspected they didn't know _how_ anymore. "I left the knots after me, didn't I?"

Coral nodded while Finnick sighed, "You got there early that day. Usually, I could cover it up but should've known you'd investigate that stupid drawer. I'd been meaning to tighten the screws but got distracted."

She was almost annoyed at the accusation before he gave a small bark of a laugh.

"At least I won't need to try leg it down the trellis again at stupid hours. Near killed me the last time." Coral blinked as Mags gave a small throaty laugh.

"You've been sneaking out the windows?" Asking it dumbly, the girl shook her head as the same word rose for the third time. " _Why_?"

"I didn't know if you'd ruin the illusion. Capitol can't sell the shiny perfect homes if one of the victors all but refuses to live in his can they?" Pride smarting that he'd have believed her capable of that kind of petty action, Coral couldn't help but recognise there might also have been some truth in there. In her anger, she'd been happy to ignore him outright as best she could. While that rage had now vanished, Coral's track record in murder attempts on Finnick's life was pretty high all things considered. It would be logical to imagine that if she couldn't destroy him physically that she'd go for the second-best. All in all, it further solidified the truth of her own words to Mags earlier. She'd been a wretched spiteful person. Enough of one that Finnick felt it better to shimmy down a second story trellis and return through the front door rather than admit he was living with old Flanagan.

It still didn't answer _why_.

"But where _is_ your mother?" Persephone Odair certainly existed. Coral remembered seeing her during the victory ceremony, crying on the stage with her husband as Finnick ran to his parents off the train. The memory of it was stark and red rimmed. Coral had been furious.

"She lives in the place I grew up. They both came up here at first, but the games sort of – messed with her. I'm their only kid, and then I get reaped and mom just –" He seemed to be searching for words he couldn't find before giving up, "She hated it up here. Hated the strangeness of it. Burst into crying at the drop of a pin because she wanted me to still be her baby boy and I just wasn't. Not anymore." A pin could've dropped and left a _clang_ of noise in its wake for all the silence that flooded the space around them. No birds sang. The gravel beneath Coral seemed to grow softer and rustle less when she moved. She was projecting, she knew that. Except it felt right in the moment. To feel like the world had slowed down as Finnick spoke. Her self-flagellation and self-pity were being drowned out by Finnick once again.

"I didn't want to go back on tour. She was so fragile, the thought of her watching me relive each kid I'd killed – it was too much. I had no choice though, and my dad made her let me go. I remember hating every second and wanting to be home again, to try and go back to normal. The makeup team had a field day with me because I kept losing sleep. Mags used to sit with me at night." Mags inclined her head, expression sad. "Then I got word my dad died while in District Two. After that, I just was sort of numb. Got back and mom had moved back home. Said she couldn't bear to leave it behind."

The detached air was back and Coral wanted to shake Finnick free of it. To imbue him with something more easily recognisable. Anger, or grief. Something easier to face down than bland acceptance.

"Mags made me move in with her after a while. Wasn't like we'd got anyone else, and mom seems happier if I just go by the odd time. Makes it easier to maintain the illusion." Coral's foot slipped on the uneven surface beneath her and jarred her forward. It was a long moment before she realised she'd moved without any outright agreement from her own brain; Her fingers curled around Finnick's shoulder in a grip so tight she surely left indentations.

"You don't need to keep an illusion with me." She spoke it sincerely. Without a hint of a lie. Finnick reached for her hand and held it against himself. The three of them stayed put for a long stretch, Coral and Mags holding onto Finnick, Finnick reaching back to keep them in place. It was the closest thing to _family_ Coral had felt in a long time, and they were the most unlikely of candidates to experience it with. Even so, she couldn't have denied the sense of calmness it imbued her with. Or how her pulse quickened when Finnick flashed one of those rare innocent smiles and said -

"I know."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

It was shortly before dawn, a violent streak of red light painting the horizon as Coral beat her familiar route down towards the sea. As was the norm, her father had left before she'd finished breakfast. With winter coming along, she found she didn't mind it so much. The mornings were crisp. Far more enjoyable than the cloying humidity that plagued the summer months.

"Coral!" Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she was slow to react. Almost at the marina, it was rare for anyone to flag her down before making it to the boat. Soft footfalls followed behind her. She turned to see Finnick. A bag was slung over one shoulder, his face was still lined with sleep but it was the broad smile that caught her most off guard. They'd formed a companionable peace. Trust. With just him, her and the sea beyond them – his smile was nothing short of dazzling.

Shaking off the feeling, she rested a hand against her hip and spoke almost accusingly. "You're not on my roster Odair."

Finnick rolled his eyes, a hand waving as he tried to catch his breath and unearth something from his jacket pocket.

"I know, I know. I needed to give – AHA - this to you before you left." A slip of paper was held out. Coral took it gingerly, flipping it over to see Mags' neat script inside. A quick scan revealed it was nothing more than a shopping list. "I'm going out on my boat today and won't be back in time for dinner so she'll need groceries done. This way I spare you both making unnecessary trips."

Coral tucked the note, still warm from his pocket, into her own. "Thanks."

Unsure what else there was to be said, the pair of them stood opposite one another a long stretch before she cleared her throat in the same moment Finnick announced he should be getting on.

"Yeah, me too. Fish to catch right?" Another grin lifted and Coral returned it, unnerved by the second genuine smile she'd received in a matter of minutes. Now that he trusted her, _completely_ , the mask was gone. What lay beneath was enough to scramble her brain each time it was trotted out before her. This Finnick wore his smile like a sunrise. Golden and vibrant, shadows cast violently aside. A disruption behind them made the expression vanish, the smile shifting into his façade. The curve of his mouth became more of a smirk, his eyes more calculating.

"Tully, good to see you." Coral turned to see the man in question looking at them inquisitively from a meter away.

"You too Odair. Joining us today?"

Finnick shook his head and made his excuses, glancing back at Coral only once more to say his goodbyes. She just about managed to respond before he vanished along the path once more. Tully, wisely, said nothing when she made a bumbling turn back to the boat and snapped that they were late. Indeed, she was left alone to dwell on her off-kilter state of being for much of the excursion to the fishing grounds. There was work to be done, after all. Idle gossip didn't become them. Or so she thought.

Tully, about as subtle as a brick through a window when he sidled up to her on the boats return, rested his arm on the last boxes they'd unloaded to the dock. He smiled. Slow. Dangerously.

" _So_ ," He dragged the word out too long, enough so that Coral immediately wanted to shove him into the water behind him, "You and Odair?"

"Me and Odair _what_?"

"No bad words from me Coral, just – I thought you were more like me?" She nearly dropped the end of the icebox she was holding as she started to laugh.

"What, into guys or gay? Those aren't overlapped when I'm not a man Tully." While their interactions had always been friendly, the past few weeks the man had been chattier than ever. Another one of the strange experiences of recent times. Coral wasn't sure if it was something she'd done or some new impression he had of her but she wasn't entirely averse to it either. Mornings on the boat had become far more enjoyable when she wasn't being catty to everyone.

He chuckled, giving the box they'd stacked a quick shake to ensure the fish inside were still covered in ice.

"Into girls then. You and Av-," He broke off in the middle of her name, eyes seeking for Coral's response. "I just thought."

"I like girls," Coral answered, "But I also like guys. I swing any way I suppose. Though I do _not_ swing for Finnick Odair." Tully raised a dark and bushy brow, expression saying he didn't believe her.

"And this morning wasn't him seeing you off?" Snorting, Coral tightened the cords around the stacked row and signalled for another worker to come and transport the boxes down to the market. Peacekeepers there would distribute the load. The rest would be going direct to the factories.

"This _morning,"_ A huff as she pulled off her gloves and unearthed the shopping list, "Was an errand for Mags. Honestly, Pat, the more I get to know you the bigger a gossip you become."

Tully threw his head back in laughter, shrugging off her jab. He didn't deny it either. Coral replaced the shopping list into her pocket while he was still sniggering to himself.

"I promised I'd bring home all the stories. Wouldn't be a good husband if I didn't, now would I?" Grudgingly, Coral agreed. Trouble was, in Four, idle gossip grew quick moving legs. An innocent snowball became an avalanche in a few days. She wasn't sure what kind of landslide could emerge from a rumour about her and Finnick but either way, she didn't like it. It was better to nip it quickly in the bud.

"Pat, the day I fawn over Finnick Odair is the day I throw my senses out the window. Besides, he's too fucking pretty."

Tully made a noise that sounded altogether unbelieving. Coral doubled down. "Come _on_ , can you imagine? I tried to murder him less than six months ago. Feelings like that don't change. I might've softened a bit but I haven't melted altogether and that, _that_ , won't happen. Now leave off."

What threw her when she glanced back up was the concern in his eyes. A touch of alarm twisted around his mouth. He was looking at her funny, peeling the gloves off his hands and tucking them into his waterproofs. With the boxes gone, it was just the two of them alone again. Tully reached out to ruffle her hair.

"If you insist. Just," He patted her cheek with a rough hand the size of a shovel, "Remember to have fun now and again. No matter how you swing. You're still a kid Coral. It's okay to act like it from time to time. Now go clean up and get off to school before you're late."

Grumbling out of her waterproofs but unable to argue the point further, Coral took the quickest shower of her life before practically racing to her classes.

* * *

Six hours.

That was all it took for her own premonition to catch up with her.

Exiting the market with the shopping bags for Mags, Coral felt a shudder run the length of her spine when she heard a _very_ female voice call out.

" _Co-co!_ How _are_ you?" Stalled like a deer in headlights, the blonde looked up from the punnet of peaches she'd been balancing on top of the basket. Right into the eyes of Mallory Pine. They were the same age, both blonde and fair and once upon a time had been the best of friends. At least on the surface. Together the pair had thrived on torturing their fellow classmates, reminding them of their inferior statuses while showing off their own as a badge of gilded honour. Mallory's family ran one of the few bespoke shoe stores in the district and for that, they gained a high honour. Mass-produced footwear was one thing, but a pair of actually _fitted_ boots that could be worn on the boats? It was sometimes the difference between life and death. The Pine's had flourished hand in hand with the Swans.

Funny, now that she was looking at the girl, Coral was sure the last time they'd spoken was the day of Ford's reaping. The memory was difficult to hold on to, full of sharp pointed edges that sought only to draw blood. _It's going to be okay_. Coral had repeated that mantra so many times that day. Convinced she wasn't going to be reaped. Convinced her brother wouldn't be either. She'd said it to Mallory with condescension before the names were drawn, filled with an assurance only a twelve-year-old could bear.

Flexing her grip against the basket handle, Coral's eyes slipped past the blonde to her two companions behind. These girls she didn't know all that well - a redhead and brunette that had been in their year but too far beneath them for engaging with. Except, of course, to spew wretched accusations and taunting remarks to. It was almost hilarious to be standing opposite them now. Of the four, Coral had been the one to fall the furthest.

She'd lost her brother, her school, and her reputation in one fell swoop.

Until Aveline, she'd been angry over that.

Until Finnick, she'd believed that it was the worst thing in the world.

Now she was only tired. Bored almost.

"Mallory." She stressed the full length of the name, refusing to unearth the old nickname she'd called the other girl. They weren't the same people now. No use in pretending otherwise. "What brings you down to the dredges?"

There were better stores around the main square, stores where the wealthier citizens frequented. Coral had chosen to shop at the market out of a combination of habit and the desire to buy Mags' peaches. She preferred the ones that were a little older. She said they weren't too sweet. Plus, shopping in the lower level markets meant she could avoid meetings like _this_.

"I heard a rumour…" Mallory began. Coral raised a brow at the attempt at a suspenseful pause. Trust Mallory Pine to make this experience more drawn out and wasteful than it needed to be.

"Bully for you. What has that to do with _me_? I have to get to work."

Coral made to move around Mallory and was met with a raised arm. Eyes flickering down, she saw the stained fingertips that betrayed Mallory's profession. Working with leather and dyes was inevitably going to stain the skin. Somehow though, the other girl's nails were perfectly rounded. That fact was almost more annoying than anything else. Corals own hands curled, hiding the cracked ends of her nails within.

Mallory sank her fingertips into Coral's arm. A silent warning. There was a social hierarchy in place and Coral had already lost her crown. It was just a pity that the expression she wore wasn't warning enough to Mallory that she didn't exactly _care_.

"I _heard_ a rumour," Mallory continued pointedly, "That you've been spending a lot of time in the victor's village lately."

"I work there. It's difficult to not spend time in one's place of work." The brunette behind them snorted and Coral's eyes moved appreciatively to the girl. She was pretty. Not as much as Aveline had been, but certainly, enough to catch an eye or two. Nails sank into her arm and drew her gaze back to Mallory who wore a tight and dangerous smile. It spoke volumes in a language Coral wasn't sure she understood.

"See, I could understand that. Except it _seems_ you've been walking home from there with Finnick almost every night. People notice such things you know." Mouth going dry, she readied herself for another rash flood of excuses. The ones she'd used on Tully that morning had hardly floated, but for someone like Mallory, they would sink immediately. Worse still, removed from the upper echelons of her Four, Coral had little clue of what sorts of secrets got flung about. Any single one that happened to include her name in association to _Finnick's,_ however, was entirely unwelcome.

Finnick had his fan clubs. Coral avoided most of them since leaving her work at the fish market, but she'd noted enough by now to recognise the trends. Those who sat in the cream of their district admired and desired Finnick for his connections to the Capitol. For his victory. Those in the middle craved acknowledgement from him. Opportunity to be seen. Finally, the dredges wanted the dream. To imagine a chance where he'd pluck them out and make one of them his partner. Someone who could reap the rewards of a place higher in the world they lived in.

She didn't know which of them were worse. Power grabbers or idolisers. They'd pissed her off when she'd disliked Finnick, offering free wares in shops or inviting him to meals. People who didn't know a damn thing about the boy falling over themselves to ingratiate themselves should they ever need a friend in a high place. For Coral now, with more knowledge and perspective, they perpetuated a system where he was little more than a show pony. For all that she denied friendship, it didn't sit right with her to do her level best to ignore those things anymore. With no one else left to protect, why not him?

"I'm glad they have eyes. Pity none of them were able to actually convince him to leave me the hell alone."

Mallory's head tilted. Her eyes reminded Coral of a cat. Wide and calculating.

"So, you're implying he's been the one following _you_ around?" A laugh, "As if he'd ever have anything to do with a person like you. Not after what your father did." More laughter caught on, the kind of awkward merriment that faded out too quick and left emptiness behind.

"What did my father do?" It was out of Coral's mouth before she could stop it. She was met with a knowing look, an expression she didn't like. It had been an easy thing to ignore and avoid Mallory's existence until the other girl was put right in front of her. Coral had retreated into herself after Ford, made sure to ignite each and every attempt at friendship so she didn't have to face the ordeal of being known again. That was the worst thing. Mallory had _known_ her. Even in their mutual evisceration of everyone else, there had been enough there to create a mimicry of friendship. The old familiarity was present now, working its way between her lips. Into her nose. Into every pore. Mallory's expression said that the other girl recognised that fact.

"The rumours _are_ true then?" A smirk. "Aveline Wyndham made sure to trickle gossip place to place, but I never believed it. You were a bitch, but not a murderer. She was just trying to make you seem scary enough so people wouldn't ask questions."

Coral frowned, another flex of her hands against the basket handle. Confusion and anger were bubbling to the surface and neither were welcome. With Mallory, one needed their wits about them. Coral, unfortunately, was fast losing hers.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

She was met with a smile and Mallory stepped back.

"Or were the rumours a lie and you are as evil as your dear old dad? Why else stick around with him? Did you pay people to trickle stories on both sides of the page so no one would know what was true?" Coral blinked, disorientation rising. Mallory was obviously talking nonsense, but then – Mallory worked in needlepoint. She chose her words and actions with care so that each one drew blood.

"Just remember that Finnick is one of _my_ people. He's going places. There's absolutely zero logic in him being interested in someone like _you_. A district traitor, just like dear dad. Tell me, was your affection for Aveline Wyndham real or did you just woo her so she'd take the fall for you?" The basket crackled as it hit the ground and Coral was stopped from moving by a hand on her upper arm. Red had clouded her vision almost entirely.

"Move along Miss Pine, I'm sure you've got better things to be doing." The calloused fingertips and rough voice had Coral turning to see who had halted her jump to violence. Tully looked more severe than usual as the trio of girls tittered and escaped his glare, a look which was promptly turned on Coral herself.

Defensive, she raised her eyebrows. " _What?!"_

He huffed and started to walk, barely giving Coral time to retrieve her basket and stagger after him. It was a terse and silent ascent to the village, the ring of his grip leaving five indented marks that would undoubtedly bruise later. She wanted to protest but found herself too out of breath to do so while trying to keep up with his pace.

Finally, the man stopped and boxed her in between both his outreached arms.

"Were those girls telling the truth? Did you _know_?" Coral blinked, all of her frazzled emotions coming to the fore at once.

"Did I know _what?!"_

"About your father – did you know Coral I need you to tell me right now." His grip was tight enough to make her arms ache but she hardly noticed. Secrets and accusations. That was what she was caught in. A whirlpool of chaos that she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"Why do people keep bringing him up?! What is so fucking _riveting_ about my father that he seems to have birthed a whole _army_ of querying minds?" Coral shoved at one of Tully's arms, her own fingertips starting to go numb from the pressure he was using.

"The deal? You don't know about the deal?"

" _What deal?"_ Tully's face went red. Then white. Then almost green. His grip loosened and the man ran a hand through his short hair. It made the strands stick out at odd angles.

"Fuck," He said it more to himself in a manner that could've been relieved or furious, "Fuck fuck _fuck_." Coral stared at the man, the fragile pieces of her composure giving way.

"No, fuck _you_! What the hell is going on Pat?" It was the first time in her life she'd called Tully by anything other than Tully and the shock of it was enough to draw his attention back to her. He looked tired when he finally met her eyes. Worn out. An old band of rubber stretched too thin. He was older than her father as it was, but she'd never really thought of him as _old_. Maybe she'd said it as a means to wind him up, but never in a concrete kind of way.

The lines on his face looked haggard, a sorrowful edge to his frown sapping all the oxygen out of her fire.

"Let's get you back to Mags' place." Tully didn't speak again before they were past the entrance trellis and its now dying vines. When he did, it was to tell her to wait outside because he needed to have a private conversation with the woman inside.

Finnick found Coral sitting on the front step almost an hour later, the basket discarded on the path beneath. A half-eaten peach sampled and discarded. There was an icebox in his arms, bringing with it the scent of fresh catch. He took one glance at her expression and asked -

"What's happened?"

Coral opened her mouth to answer at the same moment the door finally creaked to admit them. Tully stepped out, patted her shoulder and left. Mags beckoned them in. Now _she_ looked weary. Fucking hell, Coral thought, something _rotten_ is going on. She remembered Mags' insinuation about her brother. Her father and mother's night-time discussion. Recalled the gleam in Mallory's eye as she'd leveraged her bladed words against Coral's skin and slid them home.

People were keeping things from her. Huge things.

Mags was signing so rapidly she missed half the words and Finnick's eyes flickered between the woman and Coral before he gave a small sigh. Signed back.

"Coral," He said, "I think this Sunday you should come out on my boat with me." About to protest, she met Mags' eyes. Saw the quiet urgency there. Sunday was two days away. Sunday was _too far_. About to shake her head and disagree, Finnick cut her off.

"Sunday. It'd be the best time. You can show me all the mistakes I'm making while fishing and I'll regale you with stories."

Her arms ached from Tully's grip. Her ego smarted. None of it was welcome. None of it, apparently, could be solved until Sunday. Moving past them both to put away the shopping, Coral exhaled a reluctant agreement. Patience wasn't her strong suit. Not by any stretch. It seemed she just didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Those stories better be worth my time if I'm to put up with you alone." Finnick gave a grim smile and patted her shoulder.

"Oh, I think you'll find them illuminating. Maybe not very fun though."

"It's better than silence though." She answered stubbornly. Finnick's smile was sad but it was Mags that cut through the tension.

"Sometimes, Coral, it's really not."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Delmar Swan had always had ambition. The son of a fisherman and a chemical worker, he'd spent his early years in a hut by the beach. He'd survived seven years of reaping with his name in the mix forty-seven times, the consequence of too many mouths to feed and not enough money to do so. Bedtime was five bodies shoved into one tight space, was the scent of bleach and worse as it clung to his mother's skin.

At eighteen he'd decided he wouldn't live the life his parents had.

He wouldn't have too many children or allow himself to make foolish decisions blinded by love. His choices would always be pragmatic. Simple. Having the ability to compartmentalise and plan ahead made him indispensable to the shipping vessel he got work on. A rickety terrible old thing with rusted winches and nails sticking out of the woodwork. To say he'd loved the boat would've been a generosity. He had accepted it as a means to an end. It introduced him to his Gillian at the transfer yards, their flirting as they traded cargo growing bit by bit until it resulted in a marriage. It gave him enough food to put on the table so that his little sister and brother didn't need to work themselves to the bone.

When the captain of the boat, a woman named Eline, had decided to retire – it was Delmar that made the play for her contracts.

He'd done the math.

He knew what it would take to win over the Capitol investors, to convince them that _he_ was the man to bring them into the next century. There was no concern overfeeding the people of Four. No concern for the masses of people that he called friends and allies and co-workers. He'd boxed that away and whittled down the business to its core essentials. The Capitol wanted fish. Enough of it to roll in an excess. The Capitol wanted Four subjugated. Enough to know there wouldn't be another rebellion.

For the person smart enough to combine the two, they offered wealth. Success.

A file sat on his lap, his suit too expensive and constrictive. The other men and women putting forward their bids for lotteries looked exactly what they were. Poor people in their Sunday best. Playing at being successful. Delmar had no intention of _playing_.

He'd spoken to no one of his intentions. Not even his wife, who was home nursing their young son and infant daughter. Instead, he had sat and calculated and written out a ten-year plan. A means to mutually benefit the Capitol and himself. Four, naturally, would profit too but that mattered less. What he wanted above all else, was to never feel as grubby and small as he had while growing up.

When the call for submissions came, he'd entered his plans and been called to the lottery. Formulated how to present his ideas. Decided he would walk into that board room with his head held high and success already settling on his shoulders. It didn't matter that he othered himself in the process. That was the point.

_He'd done the math._

"They wish to see you now Mr Swan."

Delmar took a breath and followed the woman with the pinched mouth down the hallway in the town hall. Towards a room where he had a goal. A plan. A method for success.

Expecting the panel, he stumbled over the threshold to find only one man waiting for him. A man in a three-piece suit that immediately made Delmar self-conscious. His own suit had been cobbled together as second-hand items, stitched and dyed into fitting him uniformly. He looked well, but the fair-haired man standing at the table opposite him looked _better_.

"Mr Swan." A faint smile curved the man's mouth and he made a gesture for Delmar to sit. There would be no handshakes. No invitation to speak until spoken to. This, Delmar, realised quite quickly. "Thank you for joining us today."

 _Us_.

There was no us. Just a man speaking as if he held the fate of Delmar's upward trajectory within his palms. Speaking as if he was a person of power. Which, ultimately, _he was_.

"It's my pleasure." Mind running frantically, he debated what to do. Did he slide his files across the desk to the other man? Did he demand to know who he was working with here? Clamping his tongue between his teeth, he took a seat and decided not to speak yet.

The other man was staring out at the sea. The town hall had three floors, and Delmar was on the third. It afforded the best view. It was offered only for the Capitol visitors so that they could see what Four had to offer. Down low, all that would be seen were slums and drudgery. _No one_ wanted that. To look at it. To live it. Delmar instinctively checked his nails for dirt. They were spotless. Just as they had been fifteen minutes earlier in the waiting room.

Silence echoed and there were voices from an adjacent room. A committee meeting another of the hopeful lottery applicants.

"The Capitol," It was uttered with a quiet that shattered the silence like a hammer to glass, "Have reviewed your application, Mr Swan. We have decided to offer you terms that will be mutually beneficial."

Delmar's heart picked up speed as a manila folder was left onto the desk. It looked too thin to be a contract and yet already his fingers itched to sign the dotted line. An entire fleet had been his request. An entire fleet manned under the control of _one_ business, Swan Fisheries. A business that would strike a clear deal with the Capitol, ninety-five per cent of all the catch going to them and the remaining five going to the district itself. To date, all the fishing business was solely competitive. It resulted in ancient unfit vessels and endless squabbling over fishing grounds. With the system united under one or two key figureheads, they could map out clear regions for their catch. Spend less time trying to outwit one another and more focusing on the essence of the business.

He'd even factored in the Four rebellion. More united vessels meant that the signing languages and colloquialisms would become uniform. Peacekeepers wouldn't have to spend weeks trying to parse out the new dialects when they rose from one source spreading and expanding like wildfire until they were all but incomprehensible.

Of course, Delmar himself would profit. He'd need a cash flow to establish a fleet. An office to run the numbers out of. With increased income, he would gain his family a house in the upper tiers of the district. Offer his children a chance at schools where they could learn to fight and fend for themselves.

Fishing was only one arm of the profit to be found within Four. Even then, it accounted for nearly thirty-five per cent of the total employment of the region. The remainder went to schools where Capitol education was imparted. The merchants who divvied out the spoils. Chemical plant workers who gutted and prepared fish for transport and sale. Divers who retrieved pearls and precious stones for Capitol fashion. Everyday people who had to fulfil positions such as doctors, bakers, cleaners and whatever other kinds of things needed to be done to keep all the movable parts of the district functioning. They were diverse and still fishing commanded the bulk of their employment.

He said nothing as the man watched him, a creak of a chair sounding far too loud as the suited fellow sat. Undid the button of his jacket so as not to cause a crease in the fabric. Delmar's fingers twitched. He should've done that. Alas, it was too late to amend the faux pas _now_.

"You proposed a ten-year plan. We will give you seven per cent of the working fishing population's worth of vessels. The system will be restructured to accommodate this and your five per cent of the catch suggestion has been approved." Thin fingers crossed over the other man's abdomen, an action that betrayed his lazy relaxed attitude. As if he didn't hold Delmar's entire future in the palm of his hand. A future that was suddenly _impossibly_ within reach.

"You will be suitably rewarded, but _as_ the figurehead for your new venture – there will be expectations. President Snow is keen to avoid another kerfuffle. Losing so many lives," The man tutted softly, as if the twenty-five hundred that had died affected him on some personal level, "What a _waste_. Therefore, we will supply the ships with a caveat. You will mine each and every worker you gain for information. Secretly. By whatever means you deem necessary. You will turn that information over to us monthly."

Delmar's ears were ringing. What was being asked, what was required – it was… He couldn't even find the words.

"Naturally, we know the task will be difficult. This is why we offer immunity to your children. Ford and Coral, yes?" Delmar's stomach dropped. "They will never be reaped. The Capitol understands sacrifice Mr Swan, and so we recognise that when one sacrifice is made then another should be avoided."

It was clinical.

The suit. The smile. Cold grey eyes were framed in skin that was far too tight and youthful for a man who looked older than Delmar himself. Long fingers with manicured nails, lacking colour.

"If I refuse such terms?" Delmar finally spoke, shoulders too rigid to slump in defeat. He remembered the reaping circus. The fear. The smell of blood on the air. Parents watching with bated breath. Children knowing what it would mean to see their name flash across the screen. _Death_. _Pain_.

"Then we never had this conversation. You leave this room and reiterate your pitch to my colleagues and they decide if it's worth their time to invest." From the flippant tone he spoke with, Delmar knew that the decision would ultimately go against him. That all his hard work would dry up and he'd be back to shitty trawlers and scrabbling for fishing grounds. Reaching out and pulling the file towards him, he flipped it open. Inside was a sheet with two little lists.

The first was what the Capitol would give him. The second was what he would offer the Capitol in return. Nothing was free. Nothing was easy. Not in this world.

Swallowing, Delmar grabbed the pen on the outside of the file and sold his soul to the man in a three-piece. Sold it willingly. Without further question.

For a better life. That would benefit his children.

"It's a pleasure to do business with you, Mr Swan. The Capitol greatly values your contribution to keeping our great nation of Panem a safe and prosperous place for all our citizens."

Recognising the dismissal for what it was, he walked from the room. Felt weight lift from his shoulders.

He had done the math.

For success, for his children – he was willing to pay the price.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Sunday dawned cold enough to have Coral's teeth chattering violently by the time they settled on Finnick's small boat. Leading her down through Subdivision A, rambling nervously as he walked, he had explained how he had gotten the thing, It was tied up in complicated details about choosing his post Games skill and convincing them that he should be allowed to sail out into the bay to achieve it. His successful arguing had come with a series of stipulations, one of which was keeping the vessel itself hidden from the general public lest they try to take it. Not that anyone in their right mind would be stupid enough to try to breach the outer confines of Four without permits.

Boats left the bay for fishing by one singular exit, and the large charged electrical pillars hidden beneath the water were enough deterrent for most. Coral had seen the effects first-hand. Not all crewmen were legitimately there to work, a fact she'd learned early in life. They wanted to escape. Freedom. The price they paid for such wants was high., Electrocution, however, was only the beginning of the terrifying ordeal. For those trying to steal vessels, scrambling devices installed screwed up navigation systems and for those illegitimate sailors who dared to swim the distance – they had the mutts to deal with. Wretched creatures bastardised from sharks and controlled by tracking beacons embedded in their skin. Coral had never gotten a good look at the things but she suspected that was for the best. All in all, it was smarter to defect inland rather than chance the water.

After he'd shown her through the hidden tunnel and into a secret cove, Finnick had sailed between the exit barriers without any trouble whatsoever, silence lingering until he decided he had brought them far enough beyond the coastline. While Coral blew on her fingertips to warm them, Finnick turned the nose of the boat into the wind and dropped the mainsail enough that it wouldn't flap about too violently. Once he'd done that, he rooted through one of the small storage boxes on the deck to dig out a pair of fingerless gloves that were offered to her. Coral accepted them easily. It was fucking freezing out. Any extra layers were welcome.

It took three false starts before Coral's patience wore out and she finally snapped at the boy to start explaining. She'd had two days of driving herself mad. Two days of sympathetic looks from Mags that the woman was _definitely_ not good at hiding. Two days of Finnick avoiding being stuck in the same room as her lest she attempt to wheedle the knowledge out of him. Even Tully had been weird the last couple mornings. More reserved. She'd tried to press him once and gotten a sharp answer in return. She hadn't tried again.

Finnick zipped his jacket up tighter, cheeks pinked from the breeze. Water sloshed against the side of the boat. Had the circumstances been different, Coral might have appreciated the neat little sails and the handprinted nautilus on the fabric. Instead, she was riveted to the spot, waiting impatiently for answers.

"I'm only working with what Mags has told me, but as far as we both know, this is the truth. So please just – _listen_ – first." Scowling, Coral rolled her eyes. Rested her hip against the helm. Sitting would've only exacerbated the cold.

"That's what I'm fucking here to do you, idiot. Just get on with it." Her anxiety was making her feel nauseated. Knowing there'd been something terrible done by her father but not knowing _what_ and then stewing in all the possibilities for days- it hadn't been pleasant. It hadn't made _her_ pleasant.

The tale unfurled itself slowly. Some of it she'd known. Fishing restructures and a prime spot for Delmar Swan. The bugging system on the boats. Most of the tale reinforced things she'd already been privy to. Where her comprehension slipped was in the role her father had played.

"No." She'd said it once. Reminded Finnick that bugging of the boats was standard practice.

"Not until your father suggested it."

" _No_." It was spoken again, less forcefully and Coral's voice was almost pleading; She told Finnick that her father was a good man. That he'd looked after the people on his boats. Sure, he was a bit gruff sometimes but that wasn't an excuse to –

"He did it, Coral. All of it."

"No."

By the third time she'd interrupted Finnick to tell him he was wrong, the boy burst out.

"Coral, your father was an informant!" Finnick took her hands between his own, holding her tight enough that she couldn't escape him. Not that she'd have had far to go. "He used Ford to help him report on whoever was on his boats that were speaking of rebellions. It's impossible to bug everything effectively, you _know this."_

The deck beneath their feet rocked gently, a wicked contrast to the storm washing over her.

"No – you're _lying_. He loved Ford. He _did_."

"Of course he did. Why do you think he sold out his own employees? Good people do terrible things when confronted with a more terrible alternative. You know this. _I_ know this."

Bloodshed. It flashed before her eyes, of fourteen-year-old Finnick in the arena driving a trident into the chest of a weeping girl. Of Ford at sixteen, screaming for his life. A life that his own sister had now outlived.

 _So far_.

"Our people turned their backs on my brother because my father was a traitor?" She wanted Finnick to say it. Fully. The words from him would strike home. Find root. Somewhere over the last six months, Coral had learned to trust the boy before her. To see past his casual smiles and sun-kissed charm. There was no hint of humour in his gaze now, the green of his irises bouncing back the low-lying sun that coated the horizon line with yellow. The sky above them was devoid of clouds. If it hadn't been so cold, it might have been called perfect.

 _Tomorrow_ would be another beautiful day.

Tomorrow would be another _terrible_ day.

"Our people turned on him because between them both, eighty per cent of the arrests, floggings and executions of the previous decade had been from _their_ intel."

 _Eighty per cent_.

Corals knees gave way and Finnick crouched down to the damp floor with her. The allure of the dingy had faded, its shining sails and unmarred paint only heightening the sense of injustice within her.

"It was meant to be an agreement that neither of you would end up in the arena. That you'd both be safe for life if your father kept providing information." The nasty part of her wanted to ask why he'd ever _stopped_. A terrible thing had already been done. At what point had his guilt come into effect? When did he suddenly decide that the sacrifices he had made were too much to continue with? Her mouth struggled around a better question, one which didn't make her more wretched than she already was.

"What happened – did he stop? Ford was what? A punishment?"

"I don't think so." Finnick shook his head, mouth a thin line. "I don't know. I just know that you both made the round that year, Ford's name was pulled and after that, your father's agreement was deemed null and void."

"That doesn't make any sense. _None_ of this makes sense. It can't be true. You've got it wrong." Running her words in circles, she was stuck in a mantra. It _didn't_ make sense. Her mother wasn't perfect, but she didn't support needless murders. Her father – he was flawed. Coral knew he was flawed but this – _this_ – it was unforgivable.

"We don't. I told you Coral, this – it wasn't ever going to be easy to digest."

"How do you know?!" Coral shoved him away, praying for wings. For escape. Her chest felt too tight. Sore. It couldn't be true.

"Because Ford confessed to Mags before he went into the arena. He wanted someone to absolve him. To – to know…"

"He –," Her throat was clogged with every kind memory she had of her brother. Of the boy that hefted her to his shoulders during swimming hours, who had shared his last bites of chocolate with her. The bright and bubbly boy that could've drawn happiness from a stone. She felt Finnick snag her fingers again and realised there was moisture on them. Crying. She was crying. "Ford wouldn't – he couldn't have."

Sixteen. He'd been sixteen. People weren't _murderers_ at sixteen. Except, that wasn't true.

 _You know it's not true Coral,_ a quiet voice reminded her. She blinked at Finnick before her and remembered him again with a trident in his hand. Blood dripping down his face as he pulled the prongs free and opened a vessel in the process. He'd been fourteen then. _Fourteen_. There'd been a girl a few years back. Twelve, and tiny, and she'd laughed during her victory interview. Laughed and laughed and _laughed._

"What else did he tell her?"

The cold had fallen away. Fury and horror were flooding each artery and vein, sending them into painful anarchy. She felt like she'd been punched. Like she'd been caught in a propeller. Every muscle ached. Every nerve. Something about her face must've unnerved Finnick because he hesitated. Coral pressed.

"Tell me. _Tell me what he said."_

She had to know. Everything. All of it. It burned inside her, knowing that Finnick had known all this. That Mags had. That maybe _everyone_ had known it except _her_. Her pride was smarting. She'd shared the same roof as these people and hardly noticed. What else had she missed? Finnick's jaw worked quietly a moment, opening. Closing. Opening again.

"He said it started as a game. Where could he plant the bugs? What snippets could he drop into conversation to steer it towards the things the Capitol wanted to know. He –" Finnick hesitated, eyes flitting to study Coral's face before he pressed on, "He liked it. He thought it was fun. Ford said the more he found out, the better he got rewarded."

A bike flashed in Coral's memory. New shoes. Present upon present. With each one Ford received, Coral had gotten something too. She was going to throw up. Blood money. They'd been living on _blood money_. The pedestal she'd placed her brother on was starting to crumble to pieces. It was suffocating her.

"He _liked it_." Finnick looked forlorn. He blatantly didn't want to be the bearer of this news. Coral didn't _want_ him to be. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges, moisture and panic combining in the worst ways. Sniffling hard, Coral dug her nails into her thighs. As if it might steady her. As if it could stop the emotions eating her up inside. Another thought was rising in her mind and it only served to make her feel even worse.

"People think – they think I helped, don't they?" It would explain why her name was in the reaping year after year. Why, against all odds, she'd been called. Her mouth couldn't shape itself around the words. She'd never regretted keeping people at arm's length since Ford. It was a defensive mechanism. A means to not have to share her brother's memory with anyone else. Aveline – _fuck_ \- _Aveline._

"Did _she_ think I was complicit?" It took a long second for him to put the sequence of thoughts together and when the penny dropped, he moved so quick the boat shook.

"No, god no Coral she didn't think for a second you'd had anything to do with it. She knew better than that, it was why – why she volunteered for _you_." Her stomach finally bottomed out altogether and Coral dove sideways to throw up over the side. Bile stung her nose. It was too much. Too much. The full weight of Aveline's sacrifice finally hit her. Coral's lungs seemed too short on oxygen as if she were drowning. Her breathing turned ragged. She emptied her stomach again. Pressed her cheek against the cold metal railing.

Aveline had gone in because they'd have let Coral rot. Her own District didn't want her. Finnick didn't have to tell her that. She'd already watched it happen with Ford. If Coral had set foot in the arena, she'd have been bait. There'd have been no money donated. No friends waiting on the outside. No silver offerings to try and keep her alive. She'd have died. No amount of fighting spirit would've kept her alive in that place, not if she couldn't garner allies. Knowing what she did now, she was finding it hard to disagree. Coral had made her own life as difficult as possible by freezing nearly everyone out. She'd taken her father's crimes and made them her ammunition without even realising it.

"She saved me." It was rasped, low and desperate. "She was always saving me and it doesn't even matter, does it? Because they're going to throw me in there next year. They're going to _kill_ me and let the people call it justice. The capitol wins no matter what."

"I won't let that happen, you hear me? I _won't let you die._ "

Puzzle piece after puzzle piece slid into place. It completed a picture she didn't want to see. Her father's betrayal. Ford's _game_. Aveline's sacrifice. More people putting themselves on the line for her. She'd have been better off dead. Better off if she'd never been born. Even Finnick was trying to make promises again. Promises that ended turned him into more of a _thing_ than a person.

"Why – _why bother_?" Coral didn't want an answer. She was certain Finnick didn't have them. Pushing off the side of the boat and wiping at her mouth with her sleeve, she pulled on the ropes to hoist the mainsail back up. To force them into movement.

"What're you doing?" Finnick voice squeaked. He was thrown to the side by the sudden swing of the boat when Coral kicked at the lock at the base of the helm which had held them in place. The anchor winched itself into place and the pair were jolted.

"I need to get back. I need to – I have to make him tell me."

"Coral," Finnick reached for her and missed, her movements too erratic to be slowed down, "Coral _stop_. You need to process. You need to take a minute."

"Don't tell me what to do. Take me home."

Finnick grabbed at the wheel, locking it into place again with his foot. "No."

"Finnick. _Please_."

"No. Coral take a fucking breather."

"If you don't move this boat right fucking now, I'll _never_ forgive you."

"And if I do, Mags won't. She told me you needed to cool off out here. You need to be rational when you get back. Otherwise, you could end up in more danger."

"Than what? Our corrupt fucking government trying to kill me? They already succeeded with Ford. With Aveline. Finnick I swear I will _kill_ you if you don't let me back."

He managed to corner her, locking her arms to her sides with his embrace. Kicking him off proved futile though she didn't stop struggling. Panic and shock had numbed out everything else. It was a buffer between her skin and the frigid air. Her fingertips had gone a myriad of colours from purple to orange from the chill and Finnick curled them underneath his own. No matter how she tried to wrestle free he didn't relinquish her. Didn't let go.

"I'll kill you."

"When the alternative is Mags Flanagan, I'll take my chances. She's the one out of the two of us that actually has a kill count." Tone glib, it was lost between her sobs. Her brother. Her big brother. Her _father_. He'd sold them out. _They_ had sold people out. Together. A big fucking family celebration of how utterly evil people could be.

"I will kill you." Her voice lost its ferocity, legs giving out. Body tired, she felt like she'd spent seven days out at sea. Uneven. Sickly.

"No." Finnick tucked her head beneath his chin, rubbing warmth into her arms. Offering support. _Comfort_. She hated him for it and yet she couldn't let go. "I don't think you will."

Her words got lost between the crying that pulled her under then, her arms reaching over Finnick's to cover her head. Trapping him against herself. She wanted to lock out the world that felt too bright. Too warm. Too pretty. Too _much_.

"It hurts. Everything _hurts_ Finnick."

Finnick fell quiet. Held her close. Sank down to the deck with her without letting her go. If she'd been more aware, she might have felt how he held her tighter again. How he wrapped his entire self around her. Instead, she could only weep.

"I know."

* * *

The door slammed harder than she'd intended it to, the rattle of the old air circulator signifying the cold had risen again in the late afternoon. Coral's skin felt warm from where the sun had stuck it once they'd moved inland, but the greatest part of it came from her quiet indignation. Finnick had held her on the boat until she'd stopped oscillating between fury and breakdowns until he could let her back to shore and know she wasn't about to do something reckless. A minute inside the house and it was uncomfortable in its heat. It threatened to smother her.

"Coral, where've you been all day?" Her mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, flour on her palms and staining the edges of her dress. Another batch of bread was wafting down the hallway from the oven and Coral strode down the hallway towards her mother and spotted the collection of wrapped food in the middle of the table.

"Out. Is that for Mags?" Her mother nodded, a frown tugging her lips downward.

"What is it darling?" Coral brushed off the raised hand that sought her cheek and tear reddened eyes. That tried to claim and subdue the incoming gale. The concern in her mother's voice had snagged her father's attention from his seat beside the stove. The seat he rarely left when he was home, a bottle of counterfeit spirits hidden below the drapery of the small end table beside him. He looked upwards, heavy brows furrowed. She could see the alcohol in his tentative smile. In the burst blood vessels along his nose shining red and bright. She'd had a speech rehearsed in her head. A whole series of questions. Meeting her father's gaze all that she could get past her lips was -

" _Eighty per cent_."

The words were more solid than she felt, echoing through the room like a vacuum. It sucked up all the humanity and familiarity in a single fell swoop, her father's silence more notable than ever. There was the hum of the stove. Bird calls from outside. Finally, the sharp intake of Delmar Swan's breath as every trace of colour fled from his face. Coral had wanted him to look confused. Angry even.

She had wanted anything but the shame and burden that seemed to make her once giant father fold in on himself. Back teeth clenching together, it took her only a second to make a choice. Tearing from the room, it was easy to force her possessions into a single bag. The photograph of her and Ford as children, long before the memory of him had been tarnished. Her book of herbs. An old hairbrush that had survived the downgrading of their home. Some clothing.

Frantic whispering carried from the next room, her mother's voice rising in timbre as she queried what was happening over and over.

In the kitchen, Coral folded the items for Mags into another bag.

"Coral, what are you doing? Coral, _please_." Gillian Swan reached for her child, a grasping hand trying to hold the girl in place. "Coral _tell us what we can do to make this right_?"

"You can _bring back my brother_!" It tore out of her in a roar that left both her parents flinching. "You can undo all of the executions and arrests and _pain_ that you heaped on this place for the sake of trying to get a leg up. We were _happy_. People _liked_ us and you ruined it all for the chance of what? An ace in your deck that didn't even pay off! And then you _lied to me_. You both fed me the tale that it was the people here who killed Ford, who let him rot but it was _you_. _You did it_. I've spent the last four years hating people for being _people_ when I should've been hating _you_!"

The vacuum returned, with it went all the air in the room. Sweat had begun to bead on her brow, the air circulator silent. Delmar stood shakily.

"You're right. Please Coral, just don't -" There was a slur to his words that sickened her to her gut. This was the man she'd defended all her life. A pathetic, cruel and foolish man. "-please don't punish your mother. Don't hurt her more."

"Did you know?" Coral whirled on her mother and Gillian's expression alarmed. " _Did you know?"_

The shake of her head was almost imperceptible, but it was the words that undid the last of Coral's faith in her parents.

"After. I learned after."

"And you _stayed_? You found out that he had effectively sold out our people, that he _killed_ your son and you stayed? You chose _him_ over the right thing." She jabbed her fingers towards the man she'd called her father, unable to look at him now. Unable to look at either of them. The kitchen felt too small. It had always been so, but before tonight the monsters had been easier to hide. To mask. Moisture, warm and betraying, trickled down her cheek.

"Coral, _please_ -" She wasn't sure which of them said it now, the roaring in her ears too loud to process anything. Too loud to focus on.

"I'm leaving," Coral stated it plainly. As easy as asking her mother to pass the salt at the dinner table. She didn't know where she was going. What she'd do. There was still school. The reaping. Work. There were all those things and more to consider but they felt inconsequential compared to spending another second under the same roof as either of her parents. "I don't know you anymore. You've lied to me and hurt people. You _hurt_ people, then you tried to convince me I was _right_ to hate them for being angry? That their pain didn't matter -,

"What kind of monster _does_ that?"

"Coral – _please_ –"

"Can you, _either_ of you, tell me a reason that wasn't wealth. That wasn't selfish? Can you?" She waited a moment to look between her parents, between Gillian and Delmar Swan and their palpable guilt. Neither of them spoke. Her moth- _Gillian_ raised her apron and began to weep into the fabric.

"I'm sorry." Her father's voice was low. Barely audible. Coral swallowed thickly. "It seemed like the right thing, I didn't – we were never meant to be exposed. You were meant to be safe. "

"Sorry doesn't make Ford or the others any less dead does it?" Both of them flinched. Jaw tight, Coral asked the only thing that might have redeemed them. That might have made it – bearable.

"Did you ever regret it? Before you realised how phenomenally you'd fucked up, did you ever look back and think you'd done something wrong?" Gillian looked to Delmar in the same moment Coral did. The crumbling of her face betrayed the truth, Coral knew the answer. Partners in fucking crime. Delmar curled his lips around the word _no;_ Before the sound echoed, she was moving.

She hardly recalled making it to the door with the bundles in her arms, let alone how she drowned out her mother's anguished sobs. On the front step stood Finnick, fingers curled into a fist. He took a quick glance at her. Registered the full extent of the scene. Stepping back, the boy inserted himself between Coral and her home and pulled the door closed.

"I doubled back after I docked the boat. I thought you might need a friend." His smile didn't reach his eyes. Coral recalled the feel of his hands holding hers as he'd broken the news. Calloused and warm.

"You're not my friend." It lacked her usual heat and Finnick took one of the bundles from her. Tossed it over his shoulder and then curled his arm around her waist. Guided her down the road, past the homes and light illuminated in windows.

"I'll wear you down eventually. Until then, I'll take fond acquaintance." He didn't comment on the tears. On the bulk of her worldly possessions taking up less space than the food Mags would eat for the next week. Instead, he threw out more words that made no sense. Words she wanted to choke him with. "Ooh, how about colleague. _Ally_. Dashing Prince."

"Do you ever shut up?"

He smiled soberly. "No."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN / Just a heads up that this chapter will be my last update before the holidays 2020 - I'll be travelling and quarantining and working so time will be limited in addition to finally seeing my family for the first time in 10 months! Happy Holidays no matter what y'all celebrate and see you in the new year with the second half of this story. To everyone that has reviewed and liked and followed and bookmarked, or anything in between, thank you for bringing a little bit of brightness to a very long year and I hope you'll come back again!
> 
> My challenge to you is to give your favourite writer/artist etc some love this December - it doesn't have to be here (though it's always appreciated!) but this year has been a tough one for productivity and creativity and I know I'm not the only one that gets that warm glowing feeling when I know someone takes 2 minutes out of their day to share their feelings on my work, to encourage more and just spread a little bit of love. If we have anything to learn from Coral Swan and her story so far, it's that anger is exhausting and isolating and often our own worst enemy and no matter how much we think someone else has it better, they've all got their own demons to face. They just might come in a different form than our own. 
> 
> Much love, keep safe and see you in 2021, xo

Her bed, _Mags' bed_ , creaked under the weight of a new body. Coral, still awake, shifted her head to stare at the newcomer. Finnick had his back to her, body poised for flight. Watching the door.

"This is the most dressed I've seen you in a long time."

He turned, a flash of a grin.

"I figured I'd remove temptation from the mix. Since I'm so irresistible and all that." Her sigh echoed through the room; the duvet pulled tighter against her chin. This bed was more opulent than the one she'd had in the merchant home growing up. Its brass headboard caught moonlight through the window. The pillows were so laden down with _down_ that even laying she was still at enough of an angle to see the view. The moon glittered on water in the distance, and here in this impossibly huge room - Coral Swan couldn't sleep.

"Aveline once said people thought I was in love with you." Finnick's mouth opened and shut, face solemn for once in his life at the mention of Aveline. It was the first time Coral had said her name since the full extent of the story had emerged and even now it made her stomach burn with acid.

There were enemies within enemies in Four. Her father and his social climbing. Her mother and her choice of comfort over justice. Each and every person that had silently agreed to let Ford suffer alone in that arena for the sins of their father, to die at sixteen without a friend in the world. People who bribed and twisted their way to any advantage, leaving behind all notions of camaraderie and friendship and _trust._ Coral could see each facet of them now, but the strangest part of it was sitting beside Finnick Odair and accepting that maybe he wasn't one of them.

"People see what they want to see." Finnick spoke finally, his hands clasped between his knees.

"Like they see you. All swagger and sunshine when -," She didn't wish to say that he _wasn't_ those things, because that would be a lie. There was a part of Finnick that primped and preened under the light of day, his anxieties masked beneath a world of suave smiles and flirtations.

"When I haven't had a full night sleep since I was fourteen. When I take a blade to my own skin in a moment of blind panic." Coral winced at the memory, tempted to correct him and say that she had been the one to separate skin from skin for him. Except truth was, she had no idea how often he had been driven to that point of desperation. How many times he'd already broken. "Sometimes, I wish I'd just died in the games. At least then I wouldn't have to live with myself."

The admission caused her breath to hitch, a burning sensation kicking off behind her eyes.

"When they called my name out at the reaping, a part of me was relieved."

Finnick twisted around, the duvet tangling beneath him as he did so.

"And now I'm here in Mag's house, and I don't have a family or my best friend and I'm going to spend all year waiting for another reaping. Then, if I even make it through after that, I'll spend every games waiting for you guys to come back. _Alone_." Coral stared straight ahead as tears spilled down her cheeks. Silently. Without hesitation. "What kind of life is that to live for?"

"It's not."

His Adam's apple bobbed, Finnick's face betraying the bleakness of his words.

"But we find things that help. We find _people_ that help." Coral couldn't even imagine it. It had taken years for Aveline to wear her down and with her death went all that effort. All that love. The Wyndham's didn't want to see her anymore. She'd rejected her own parents. In a matter of days her world had been whittled down to two people she'd have once held at arm's length if given the chance. With nowhere else to go, she either had to accept it or give up. Which was the root of her problem. Coral had felt relief in that moment because it meant she would finally have a clear option for her future. Capitol pawn or dead body. Either was as likely as the other but both would require some degree of fighting and she had resigned herself to that. Fighting here, _now_ , it felt futile. What was she fighting _for?!_

Coral flinched when Finnick's palm met her cheek, long fingers splayed out as he angled her head back towards him.

"I know you don't care for me. I know you don't even _want_ to be my friend -" She opened her mouth to protest. Shut it again. It would have been too much of a lie even for her. "You don't deny me the truth Coral. You're honest in a brutal painful way and because of _that_ I feel human again. I can be broken and vulnerable with you because I know that you won't weaponize that against me without telling me first. With _you_ , I sleep. I don't even dream."

The blankets sank beneath the weight of him, Finnick having reached across to her side of the bed to touch her. His hand pulled back, taking with it his warmth.

Coral couldn't detect malice in his admission. _Misdirection_. Finnick looked utterly sincere and she hated him again for it. Her anger was a finely cultivated object within her. It had been her fuel and guiding light for so long that to see the very object of it bathed in moonlight with nothing but _faith_ in his eyes; it made her want to throttle him.

"So maybe someday, you'll find someone that offers that for you."

It was too simple. Too easy. He spoke of trust and vulnerability as if they were straightforward to offer up. For all he might place his in her, Coral knew it was misplaced. Foolish even.

Exhaling, she met his eye and nodded. He smiled.

Coral didn't have the heart to tell him it was a lie. After all she'd learned, after all her father had done – who was she to think she deserved _anything_ like that?

* * *

_Aveline once said people thought I was in love with you._

Finnick lay with his hands clasped across his chest, listening to the soft sounds of Coral breathing beside him. He'd attempted to sleep more than once and instead his mind had circled those words over and over. Mags would nag him tomorrow for falling asleep here anyways, though he was somewhat uncertain of that eventuality. Flanagan had a tendency to surprise him, especially when it came to one Coral Swan.

Over the years since his win, Mags had become the backbone of his world. She kept him on the right track. Reminded him of the more human parts of their lives. People thought the Victors were untouchable. That they had done their duty. It was the biggest fallacy of all. Even those who shed blood just to gain a victory in the games were never truly free. For Finnick, that meant they needed to find pockets of normality. Cove found it in her wife. Medea with her husband and kids. Mags, well, _Mags_ found it in little acts of kindness. They were ways to put each year of games to rest. To wipe them from their minds.

Finnick, right from the start, had found those pockets in Coral. The girl herself shifted in bed, sleep restless and agitated. When she rolled into his chest it was second nature to let her head fall against him. To tuck his chin against her crown. She smelled of fresh air, herbs, and the sea, a mixture of the events of their day. In sleep he saw the tension seep from her face until she was hardly more than the girl she'd been when they'd first met.

He knew she didn't recall it. She'd have mentioned it before now if she _did_. Finnick had the memory filed away, buffed and shining for him to examine at will. The Reaping line at age twelve and the blonde-haired girl ahead of him who had reached out and put a hand against his arm. Who leaned forward with a smile full of quiet confidence and told him, " _Breathe. It's all going to be okay_."

He'd never seen her before, they weren't even in the same school but in one single moment she'd grounded him. She had smiled and pressed skin to skin in the way his mother should have that morning. It was a kindness he couldn't have offered anyone else. A kindness he knew must be seldom seen in the middle of a reaping line. Finnick found himself taking a deep breath at her instruction. Returning the smile that she bore, wide and unconcerned. It was an attitude unlike any of their fellow citizens, the fear already tangible and metallic in the air. Except for this single solitary girl.

The sun turned her hair to bright gold. It made her green eyes reflect like the ocean on a cloudy day. Before he could get her name, she was gone and then so was he, shepherded to his own group without fanfare or comfort. He'd sought her out in the crowd as she'd smiled. As the look vanished from her face when the male tribute was called. Between Finnick's palpable relief and apprehension was the awareness of that girl turning pale. Of her reaching out and calling to the terrified looking boy who stalked his way to the stage amidst a sea of silence.

The next time Finnick saw her had been after Ford Swan was already dead. After the whispers had raced doorstep to doorstep, a reminder for the people to not help this one. To let him suffer. His own father had refused to partake in the monstrosity. He'd given all they had to spare and urged Finnick to never grow so jaded that he thought a child should pay for the sins of a parent. An opinion that others, evidently, didn't share. Coral hadn't attended his school before then, an old building buried deep in one of the poorer Subdivision A regions. A school with paint peeling from the walls and teachers who did their best but lacked any real support. The kind of place that when given the choice, people picked _elsewhere_. Except it wasn't about choice. It was about _status_. After her brother died, the Swans' status was in tatters. Rumour was, Delmar Swan had sunk every last penny into trying to save his son. His daughter paid the price with her education.

They'd shared a class, though he sometimes wondered if she recalled anything during that time.

The bright and confident girl who'd reached out and left a mark on him had vanished. In her place was shell shock. Confusion. For most people, the descent into anger was a quiet and personal thing. For her, it had been violent and public. There wasn't a day that passed that first year without some foolish twit opening his mouth to the girl and earning a punch in retaliation. Finnick, for his part, had done his best to intervene. To cut the trickle off at the source before it got to the girl with the too dead eyes and fire in her belly. He couldn't have said _why_ he did it. When he'd tried to tell Mags, she had called him kind. Except Finnick hadn't been motivated out of the goodness of his heart. Coral had given him comfort in a moment when he'd been seconds from hyperventilating with fear. She'd been a lifeline.

_He didn't like debts._

So, he worked it off behind the scenes. Tried to match like for like. A few moments of comfort for Coral Swan and then they would be even again. Except somewhere along the road, he'd forgotten about the tit for tat nature of debts. Finnick watched, enviously, as Coral attracted Aveline Wyndham to her. As even in her unruly animosity she had won over the prettiest and funniest girl in their school. As the teachers praised her in spite of her stubborn resistance. His curiosity only intensified. What was it about this girl that drew people in even when she proved unworthy of it?

He wasn't blind.

One moment of comfort and confidence had long since been washed away by the callous bladed words Coral wielded with glee. If she didn't verbally eviscerate their classmates, she resorted to fists. Blonde and filled to the brim with spite, Coral was the last person _anyone_ ought to have been interested in. The last one anyone should have trusted.

Yet, when he spoke to others - he heard only praise. Quiet of course, but it was there when one knew where to look. Old Tully on the boats. Mags. Sebastian Lynch who worked out of the bakery. Elodie Short who was a few years ahead of them in school. The consensus was the same. Coral Swan wasn't soft but she was honest. At twelve, she was stubborn and pained, but also resilient. Determined. Each task she looked at, she sought to succeed at. When Aveline broke through her defences, Coral defended and supported her in every avenue.

Until his games, Finnick had been motivated by curiosity alone. After them, he wanted familiarity. As his whole life unravelled at the seams, he'd discovered one constant. The barbed wire tongue of Coral Swan. Mags peppered in truth to the rumours that spread, reminding Finnick that Coral had never knowingly participated in her father's scheme. That there was a strong likelihood she was kept in the dark. After all, how many parents willingly shared their demons with their children? His own certainly hadn't. The consensus was one discussed in quiet, an agreement among the people he surrounded himself that children didn't deserve to suffer for the sins of their parents. Maybe it was hearing his father's words reflected, or maybe it was just stupidity but from that moment - he was lost.

For every smile he received from a pretty girl that batted her lashes, a grimace from Coral was worth ten times more. She was the earth wire in the chaotic plug of a system that now made up his life. In a world now built almost solely on deception, she was a breath of fresh air.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, he'd fallen in love with her. It had been the idea of her first. The caricature he'd created in his mind of the cantankerous, stubborn girl. He'd sequestered each interaction with her inside his mind, all the flashes of anger and tight customer service smiles she was forced to offer at her mother's stall. The feelings had intensified after Aveline volunteered. As she had relayed the secret wishes and dreams that Coral wanted to fulfil. As she confirmed their suspicions about Coral's ignorance to her father's deeds. Though it had been easy to pick out Coral's obsession with Aveline, it had been harder for him to understand if it was reciprocated.

Five minutes with Aveline had answered it.

" _She's just so driven you know. She never gives up. Even when she's meant to. It's why I didn't give up on her when she tried to push me away - she deserves as much dedication in return..."_

He sighed. Shifted a hand to cover his eyes and bring the ghost in his memories into sharper focus. Aveline curled into a sofa in the capitol, her shape absorbing the light and energy from the room. Creating a cyclone of fear and grief that was too familiar to him.

" _I know I might die but at least I can do it knowing that my life was worth something. That because she loved me even a little, I had a little piece of sunshine with me every day. You'll tell her that right? You've got to. Tell her she's sunshine and fire and oh god when you see her smile - that real one...fuck me man, but it's a million-watt bulb. She just doesn't do shit by halves and that smile, Finnick, I'd kill for that smile. I'm going to kill to get back to that smile."_

He was yet to see it. Coral, until now, had held him at arm's length, but there were glimpses peeking through. A twitch at the edge of her mouth sometimes that spoke of the sun breaking through clouds. Even seeing it dimmed was enough to take his breath away. It made his chest tight. His heart race.

To hold her in his arms was something that had been unthinkable months ago. A fantasy. He'd coveted her from a distance. Knew that if he aided Aveline's return, he'd never _get_ her. Except it would've been worth it. If Aveline had come back, he'd have earned that smile. He'd have repaid his debt.

After Aveline, he'd been selfish. Had kept pushing her. A body flung endlessly against a solid oak door until she'd given an inch. Once she'd let him that far in, he'd clung fast. Finnick wanted to say it was noble. That he'd been motivated only by the desire to let Coral know she wasn't alone. To offer her friendship and respite. Except she'd caught him in the midst of a breakdown and his resolve crumbled. Since then, he had reaped each and every shred of comfort she was willing to give. He could count the freckles on her legs. Could tell when her ankles started to ache from holding his half-asleep weight upright. He'd already died a thousand times when she tucked hair out of his eyes while she thought he slept. Finnick did the same now, brushing blonde strands from her forehead and curled them behind her ear. Let the back of his knuckles trace the curve of her cheekbone and the line of her jaw. The soft skin of the cupid's bow above her slightly parted lips.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted her to kiss _him_.

He wanted her to _want_ to kiss him.

Finnick had been kissed before. Had been touched. None of those experiences made his body respond the way it did when Coral gave him a millimetre. When she let him watch her without being checked. When she stitched him back together and brushed her thumb against his bicep with all the tenderness of a lover's kiss.

He knew there was every chance he'd exaggerated things in his own mind. That the reality would pale in comparison. Except the racing of his pulse, even now, couldn't have been in his imagination. Laying there, he let his hand hover over the fist she had curled in the duvet. Not quite touching, but if she had been awake - she'd have said he was too close. An inch between their hands and he could feel the warmth of her skin. The sunshine that lingered hours later.

Finnick curled his fingers into a fist. Released it. Flipped his hand to brush the knuckle of his left index finger over hers. Coral made a noise, soft, at the back of her throat. Her grip relaxed. About to pull away he almost jumped out of his skin when she reached for his hand. Curled it into her own. Fingers slipping between fingers until they were an interlinked chain. Her skin was calloused and warm. His heart picked up pace and Finnick took a deep breath. Forced himself to be calm. To not wake her.

" _Stop_ being weird."

Finnick spoke it firmly to himself. He hoped that by forcing it into being that it would come true. That he could just be here for her. That in the mess of their current situation, Coral might come to trust him as much as he did her. A small, selfish part of him wanted more. For the animosity that had faded to be replaced by love. By affection.

It would've been so easy then. To try to press his lips to hers and see what came of it. Except that he knew, no matter what, Coral would have to be the instigator. Anything less, and he'd lose even this. Anything less, and it would never be enough.

He loved her.

Blindly.

With both eyes open.

It made no sense. It made _perfect_ sense.

Finnick Odair was a survivor and a fighter and a fool. He had already proved that in the Games. Proved it after the games and his father. Yet, he liked to think that it was a positive thing, to still be willing to walk into flames with absolute awareness of the pain that might be waiting for him. Without letting fear hold him back.

He hoped - _he hoped_ \- that he was right. Coral's grip tightened against his own and Finnick let his eyes drift shut. Let her slow inhales and exhales wring the tension from his limbs. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.


End file.
